


Land's End

by pm_lo



Series: Unpresented [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Self-Lubrication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:59:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pm_lo/pseuds/pm_lo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a year, he saw him once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In a year, he saw him once.

The wedding was modern in some inscrutable way that meant the guests wore white while the brides wore a very pale pink. The reception spanned the length of a football field, not including the sprawling stone mansion, and yet somehow not a single heel sank into the crisp green lawn, and there wasn’t a grass stain in sight. The priest was an elegant middle-aged man with silver at his temples in such precise squares that they must have been dyed. Castiel watched him from a window.

He had decided to wait until the end of the night (he wasn’t a monster), so he nursed a lemonade indoors and waited. A pair of flower girls toddled past him shepherded by their mother, and one stopped to give him a slight, quizzical glance before disappearing around the corner. He wondered if the mother was an omega, as all signs would suggest.

And that was when it hit him - that insane, tempting scent that shot through him like a tuning fork up the nose, sweet reverberations staining his mind a vivid shade of _Dean._

Then the building exploded.

The ringing in his ears eventually gave way to the shrill sound of alarms, but first he felt the ground shake from chunks of marble falling away from the blast site and the footfalls of security as they rushed to their clients. He pushed himself up as the smoke cleared, revealing a wall of fire near the main atrium that was now partially visible through the demolished wall. Everything was black smoke and neon orange flames, and before it, a pair of familiar silhouettes.

He thought he saw one turn toward him, just for a moment, before they vanished, but that had to have been the concussion.

*  


A splotchy-faced man beamed at him when Castiel shouldered his way through the plexiglass door of Dream Away Mattress. “Howdy, sir! Can I show you anything in particular?”

“No,” Castiel said, heading straight to the employees-only room. The salesman smiled genially and went back to his newspaper. 

Castiel slung his messenger bag further back over his chest and slid a timecard into the machine on the wall. The wall deepened with a scrape of concrete on steel, and he stepped into a small, unassuming elevator that quietly took him down about twenty stories.

Rachel was waiting for him when he disembarked. “Do you have it?”

He retrieved the bloodstained envelope from his bag and handed it off. “Careful,” he said. “It might still be radioactive.”

She walked away without a response, and Castiel sighed, heading in the opposite direction. He passed only a few faces he recognized, but no one waved. 

His room was just as he’d left it, the plain white walls soothingly familiar if not actually soothing. He unpacked and undressed quickly, worked through his nightly fitness routine, washed his face, and brushed his teeth. Then he turned his covers back, slid between them, laid his head on his pillow, and stared at the pills on his bedside table. With one last look, he turned over, facing the wall, and went to sleep.

In the morning, there were scents.

His room wasn’t too bad. He had cleaned it thoroughly upon first returning from the Winchester mission, so the only scents it retained were what he assumed to be the faint smells of the building itself - mildew, drywall, copper, and dust - and of course, his own vaguely nauseating scent. The latter faded into the background of his consciousness faster and easier each time he did this, but it was still disconcerting to wake up to, a pungent, bitter odor.

He was still in bed gearing up to face the day when Naomi entered without knocking. He immediately groaned and brought the covers up over his nose, and she sighed, sitting at the chair in front of his desk. “Good morning to you too, Castiel.”

People - people were the _worst_. His own scent was muted to him somewhat, his body filtering it out and allowing it to become a sort of white noise in his own mind, like the sound of his heartbeat. The smell of the city was worse, garbage and meat and soot, and the hundreds of artificial and natural scents that made up the rest of the world were trying, a constant assault of moving pieces that had to be carefully dissected and analyzed, while avoiding the temptation to let them overpower him altogether.

But people? People were a whole nest of disgusting scents. They were cloying, bright and unavoidable, and their scents _changed_ , ebbed and shifted in ways Castiel was expected to track minutely, assess and anticipate, when instead they made him want to be ill. 

Naomi’s was different today - which was itself a form of progress, he supposed, that he could even tell the difference. It made him itchy, and he sat up in bed irritably. “What is it?”

“How was the mission?”

“Rachel didn’t report to you?”

“She did,” she said carefully. “I just wanted to -”

“As you can tell,” Castiel said, throwing back the covers and sitting up gingerly, “I am ready to begin my training.”

It had been Naomi’s idea to _ease into it_ \- go off the blockers one day a month, so Castiel could practice being a “real alpha.” Castiel would have gladly had the suppressants permanently implanted somehow- he knew they had to have someone on staff who could do it - but Naomi insisted that it was smart to prepare for all contingencies. The worst part was, she was probably right.

“Good,” she said. “When you're done today, pack for a several-week deployment."

That got his attention. "Caracas?"

"I've shifted it to another agent," she said. "This is more important."

She was drumming her carefully-manicured nails against his desk, a wooden _tap tap tap_ louder than their conversation. "What is it?"

"Details on the plane tomorrow," she said, standing and smoothing out her skirt. The last-minute reassignment was odd enough, but Naomi never fussed or fidgeted. Perhaps that was what the itchy smell was - anxiety. 

"For now, focus on your training," she was saying, as she headed for the door.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and began to dress.

"Alpha training" was no different from regular training, except to Castiel it felt like doing everything while high - his normal focus and thought patterns, even the muscle memory he had developed over years and years of work, were subject to the most alarming of counterweights and distractions. Other agents passing by, distant conversations, and mundane trivia he would never have had trouble tuning out when he needed to accomplish something - like, say, putting another agent on his back - were now landmines. 

Which was how he ended up on the mat, trying not to glower up at Malachi, who was chuckling slightly as he extended a hand to Castiel. "I'd heard the rumors, but I didn't think you really needed this much work. Naomi must be furious."

Castiel rolled his shoulders as he stood, circling Malachi wearily. He'd heard all the jokes - that he and the other Unpresenteds were Naomi's favorites, that she would've been Unpresented herself if she could. It seemed undeniable that they had started deliberately recruiting more Unpresenteds into their ranks once they had seen what Castiel could do, but the others seemed to think it was because being Unpresented somehow made them cold, more suited to Naomi's detached method of leadership. The kindest reaction he got was pity - the opinion that he was "missing out" on the rich world of scents and pheromones. 

Now they pitied him for an entirely different reason.

Case in point: there was a new smell in the gym, something skunky and base, but he couldn't tell if he was meant to be ignoring or reacting to it until the briefest flicker of Malachi's eyes had him dodging to the side. It wasn't fast enough to completely avoid Ion, though, and they ended up crashing to the floor together.

"What's he smell like to you?" Malachi asked, helping Ion to his feet first.

"Person," Castiel said testily. 

Malachi laughed. "Aggression, is what you're looking for. Testosterone - beta on a rampage. Should've smelled him coming a mile away."

Castiel wiped a hand across his brow, hating that he needed to ask these types of clarifications: "How do you know what's a background scent and what matters?"

Of course Malachi didn't answer him directly. He stared, his amusement and derision sliding into something even more depressing. "You actually miss it, don't you? Being Unpresented. Bet it was easier."

Castiel tried to take a deep, relaxing breath, then cursed the fact that that coping mechanism had also been taken away from him. Malachi laughed as the scent of alpha anger bled into the air. 

Controlling his _own_ emotions wasn't something that should have changed since presenting, but he seemed quicker to anger now than he ever had before. And that just compounded the problem, because with his own, putrid emotions stinking up the air around him, he was even slower to notice other scents.

Like Hannah's, sidling up next to Malachi. "Take a break," she told him. "I'll cover here."

He scoffed, giving her an insultingly dubious once-over. "You? How'll you be any help to him?"

"Was that a question, agent?" She asked icily. Malachi seemed to remember his rank all at once and drew up sharply.

"No, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am," he said, and walked quietly toward the locker rooms. Castiel took a slow breath once he was gone, letting Hannah's undemanding presence and scent calm him. Perversely, her clean, neutral scent was one of the ones he found the least offensive, even though he knew better than almost anyone that Unpresenteds were supposed to smell “weird". He didn't get anything wrong or deformed from her scent, just something... light. Minty, or nutty, though he knew it had no true base in natural or culinary scents - the media nonsense about mates smelling like chocolate or rugged woodsmoke to each other was a total fantasy, but it was what his mind tended to spins its wheels on anyway.

"You looked like you could use a break," Hannah said.

"Thanks." They sat on the mat side by side.

"Still bad?" She asked.

"Like trying to sieve the desert through a thimble." He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Her voice was sympathetic. "You're brave to even try it, Castiel."

He brought his hands down to look at her, then said quietly, "You really mean that?"

She frowned at him. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

He hugged his arms over his knees. "It's... the others, the des-typical agents, they always gave me - us - a hard time. I'm used to it. But..." he paused, rubbing a thumb into the hollow of his elbow. Hannah waited patiently. "Rachel. She's been avoiding me. She's even less talkative than usual. I think she..."

"What?"

"I think she thinks - I don't know. That I abandoned the cause somehow."

Hannah eyebrows climbed her forehead. "She thinks you presented on _purpose?_ "

"I don't know," he said, scowling off at a distant pair of agents doing weight training. He returned his gaze to her more hesitantly. "You never think that I'm... different now?"

"Different? Yes," Hannah said. "Still you? Of course. Castiel, I would be a sad example of Unpresented if I blamed you for your biology. That's kind of the point."

Castiel looked into Hannah's sweet, pretty face and bit back a sigh. She hadn't been the first Unpresented they had brought in after him, but she had been one of the first he had truly bonded with. He had even entertained thoughts of mating with her when they had been younger, before she had met Joe. Lucky Hannah, she hadn't needed to go through this agony to find her - well, she and Joe were well-suited. 

Hannah didn't need to scent him to recognize an excellent time to change the subject. "Enough of this lounging about," she said, standing and kicking him gently. "Time for a real challenge."

He grinned at her street clothes. "Don't you want to change first?"

"I won't break a sweat trouncing you."

He laughed.

*  


Despite her promise, Naomi proved too busy on the plane ride west to brief Castiel on their mission - the most he got out of her was that they would head straight from the airstrip to a safehouse deep in the woods.

"It's just over that ridge," Naomi said, pointing, once they'd unloaded from the Jeep. "Hannah, check the perimeter; Castiel, sweep the house, make sure it's clean."

Castiel nodded and began climbing the small hill. At the crest he could just make out the shape of the two-story cabin a few hundred feet away - it was a dark night, no moon to speak of, and the tall pines were close together, forming a crushed, mossy darkness in every direction. Still, it was more pleasant than many places he'd worked in, the earth suffused with a rich, loamy scent, the soft, muffled sounds of the forest surrounding them.

He climbed the few steps to the deck, checking cursorily for anything out of place. Everything seemed to be as it should, until the sliding glass door swept open too smoothly, and he was hit by an overwhelming wall of scents, which meant - 

A fist to the face made his head snap back, but in the next instant he'd crouched and charged at his assailant, pinning him between his shoulder and arm and surging him back into the house's moonlit great room. They stumbled all the way to the opposite wall, where he scrambled for his opponents' wrists and slammed them up above his head. He drew back and familiar eyes blinked down at him, echoing Castiel's confusion.

_Dean?_ What was Dean doing here, why was Dean here? It was - Castiel shook his head, Dean had hit him, this was their safehouse and Dean was here so obviously - he needed to find some way to restrain him, search the house for Sam, any other dangers, but he couldn't keep from leaning in, snuffling at Dean's neck where it was exposed above the collar of his tactical gear. He shuddered as the scent swamped his nose and lungs - _christ_ , he smelled good, better than Castiel could have remembered, better than he could have dreamed.

"God. Fuck," Dean bit out, and shoved off from the wall strongly enough to dislodge Castiel's hold, sending him reeling backwards. _Right. A threat._

Dean shook his head like a dog and threw an almost lazy punch, then another, and on the next Castiel ducked under and brought them to the ground, where Dean quickly took control and straddled Castiel, trying to pin him in place. Castiel evaded his grip and ran his hands up Dean's thighs, and Dean ground his hips down onto Castiel's and said, "Shit," and put an arm across Castiel's throat, hard, and asked, "What are you doing here?"

Castiel bucked up, unbalancing Dean enough to roll them, and pinned Dean's arms at his sides. Dean struggled, and Castiel shivered, trying to focus, getting out, "What - what are _you_..." Dean's eyelids were fluttering. Castiel leaned down to scent them, mouth watering at the delicate skin. Dean grunted with a soft edge to it, breath rattling in his throat. Their lips were so close.

Castiel rolled his hips and Dean brought his head up, hard, cracking Castiel across the forehead though more gently, he thought as he staggered backwards, than he had needed to. Dean was rolling backwards and they both came up fists braced at the same time. Castiel had the inane thought that even if he couldn't smell Dean, he'd still be transfixed by the sight of him mid-battle, sweating and deadly and intent. 

"Dean?" Asked an incredulous voice, and it was only then that Castiel registered the sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs - no Sam, but there was a perky redhead in absurdly bright yellow pajamas and a skinny man with a childlike air, both looking between Dean and Castiel as though more confused than threatened or hostile.

Behind him Naomi and Hannah were fast approaching as well. "What's going on here?" Naomi asked as she walked in, also somewhat less urgently than Castiel would have expected, considering a rival organization had infiltrated their safehouse.

"I think we should be asking you that," the redhead said to Naomi. "Your guy's the one who went psycho.” 

Now Dean was frowning up at his companions. "Charlie, you -"

"Your team was supposed to arrive tomorrow," Naomi said.

"Wrapped our last job early," the redhead said, descending the last of the stairs. "We sent word, didn't you get it?"

The situation was rapidly spinning in a direction Castiel couldn't and perhaps didn't want to understand, and Dean was still standing several feet away _smelling like Dean_. "What is going on?"

Naomi turned to him with an inscrutable look, and beckoned Hannah further into the room. "Agents," she said, "meet your partners for this mission."


	2. Chapter 2

_“What?”_ Dean said. It drowned out the sound of Castiel asking the same thing.

The redhead merely _giggled_. "Well, this is an inauspicious start," she said, walking the rest of the way down the stairs and extending a hand to Castiel with a beaming smile. "Charlie Bradbury, nice to meet you."

"Uh, nice to meet you," Castiel echoed, shaking her hand.

"This is James and Caroline," Naomi said. Charlie just beamed wider and went to shake Hannah's hand, but in the edge of his vision Castiel could see Dean glaring at him viciously.

"I'm Garth," the tall man offered, still from the stairs. He was wafting the air in front of his nose. Castiel was belatedly embarrassed about the scent of the room; he couldn’t identify it himself, but he could guess. 

"My apologies for the confusion," Naomi was saying. "If you were hurt, Dean - ?"

"I'm fine," Dean ground out. 

"Wonderful," Naomi said, smiling as brightly as she ever did. "Then perhaps we should all get some rest and resume fresh in the morning."

"Sounds good to me," Charlie said. "We're all set up upstairs, you guys wanna take the basement?"

"That will be fine," Naomi said magnanimously.

"K then, holler if you need anything." Charlie quite noticeably took Dean's arm to steer him back up the stairs, while Hannah left to follow Naomi down a different route. Even with his scenting suddenly back on, he was still able to hear Charlie whispering to Dean, "Were you guys fighting or -"

"Shut up," Dean hissed. Castiel hurried to follow his teammates.

The basement was a stark contrast to the rest of the cabin, all smooth polished chrome and blank whiteness below the water level. Hannah gave him a look that said _we'll talk later_ before disappearing into her room. That was fine, because he and Naomi were going to talk now.

"What were you thinking," he snarled, following her into her room. "Why wouldn't you tell me we're working with my - why _would_ you send me on a mission with - with Dean?"

"I thought I would have a chance to tell you before they arrived," she said patiently, unzipping her luggage on the narrow bed. "Tonight."

"Not before now?"

"I didn't want to risk any insubordination."

He grit his teeth. "Why on _earth -_ "

"Our mission requires Dean's expertise," she said. "Dean and his team's. You'll learn more tomorrow."

"Really," He said incredulously. "Putting me off again."

She smiled serenely at him. "It was a long trip. Don't you want to shower?" 

He didn't even dignify that with a response before stomping off to his own room. Though it was a safehouse and thus relatively devoid of scent, it was still overpowering compared to his assiduously clean apartment. Naomi and Hannah's scents were clearly discernible, almost forming fat arrows pointing to their respective rooms, and floating above it all were the pine needles and smoke and sewage of the level above. And the _people_ above - he'd barely been able to distinguish Dean's teammates' scents at the time, much less analyze them for anything. It would appear that he'd be going alpha on this mission, so he resolved to start on that in the morning - practice by ferreting what he could out of Charlie and Garth.

If he'd ever be able to smell anything else with Dean in the room.

Even with two floors between them, he could smell Dean. He wondered if it was genuine or just an afterimage in his nostrils, pressed into the tender skin. He lifted his forearm to his nose and sniffed, a stale imprint of Dean's scent settling comfortingly into his bones. It still seemed distinct from the thread of Dean's scent that he thought he could detect in the room with him, drifting down from above and taunting him.

Dean smelled good.

It was folly to imagine that he had suddenly gained the ability to discern emotions within scents, even Dean's, but the ideas suggested themselves nonetheless. Was the slight blackened edge to Dean's scent embarrassment? He was probably furious, just like Castiel, probably interrogating his teammates for more information, which _they_ were undoubtedly providing. Would Dean be as revealing? Share with them their brief but fraught history? Was Dean as confused and helpless as Castiel felt? There was something in his scent that suggested... _urgency_ , a sort of cry for action. Something that made Castiel want to climb the stairs and touch him, lay his palms on Dean's skin to make sure he was still there, to keep him together, keep him from flying apart like Castiel felt liable to do at any moment.

So Castiel was horny. That was to be expected. Was that arousal he was detecting in Dean's scent, or merely wishful thinking? The scent was soothing on one hit and maddening on another, something in it driving Castiel to distraction - a hint of slick, maybe? Perhaps Dean was touching himself, furious and ashamed but needing to take the edge off. Castiel had been absentmindedly hard since entering the cabin, his knot an itchy, irritating distraction. How could Dean _not_ be wet? Dean would need him. He needed Dean. He was only two stories away. He could just -

He punched the wall, then locked his own door with impotent spite. What the room stunk of was not some foolish fantasy of Dean, but his own coarse, idiotic alpha hormones. He was, he reminded himself, not actually in rut this time. That had been the only reason he'd so completely lost his head last time - he had been presenting, in the thrall of the strongest rush of hormones he would ever experience. Now there was no excuse for such absurd behavior. He could control himself. Yes, Dean smelled good, but he smelled good the way a freshly grilled burger smelled good - a temptation, one to be enjoyed from a distance but, ultimately, resisted. 

Because it was toxic.

Castiel lay in bed and breathed through his mouth 'til morning.

*

"Mornin', Jimmy!" Garth called as Castiel shambled into the kitchen the next morning. Everyone else was already there, looking if not comfortable with each other then at least tolerably relaxed. Castiel's head was pounding from the assault of scents, but he tried to smile. Garth was frying bacon and flipping pancakes, and there was fruit and yogurt on the table, so that was encouraging. Castiel took a seat as far away from Dean as possible and started piling raspberries onto his plate. "Can I call ya Jimmy?"

"It's a cover," Dean said derisively, not looking up from his own plate. "Don't get so excited."

Castiel took a large bite of yogurt, trying to distract himself from honing in on Dean's scent. He smelled fresh, like toothpaste and water, and a little like drool, but mostly he smelled scrubbed, as if he'd tried to wash away as much of his scent as he could, which made sense. But even through the inoffensive layer of cleanliness, Castiel could still smell Dean at his most basic, warm and rough. Even with a slight note of rancor, it was lovely. He let himself enjoy it for a second, then forcefully redirected his thoughts to avoid putting out any unwanted scent of his own. 

"Y'all are doing covers?" Garth was whining, completely undeterred. "Why didn't we do covers, I could've been Randy Magnum. Or _Burt Macklin!_ "

"Garth, focus," Charlie said.

"Thank you, Ms. Bradbury," Naomi said crisply. "Now that we're all here, we can begin the mission briefing."

Everyone looked mildly put-out at the thought of being briefed during breakfast, but no one had the energy to stop Naomi. "One of our agents recently went missing while on leave. Ezekiel." She pulled a glossy photo out of her folder and taped it to one of the windows. The face was vaguely familiar to Castiel, but he couldn't place him; theirs was a large family.

"He last checked in three months ago - since then, nothing. He is presumed dead," she continued. "We would like to find out by whom."

"Could it have been something else? OD, heart attack, accident?" Charlie asked.

"There is nothing to suggest drug use or any health problems, and we believe the third possibility to be remote."

"People in our line don't usually have _accidents_ ," Dean said.

"Exactly," Naomi said. "We've traced him to this area, but our last known sighting was several days before his scheduled check-in, so he could be anywhere." Another document joined the photograph on the window - a map. "That's why we're splitting up. Charlie and I will set up headquarters in Cabo San Lucas; Garth, you will go with Caroline to La Paz; and Dean and James will set up in Todos Santos."

"Aww," Garth whined playfully. "I want to go to Cabo!" Charlie glanced at Dean, who was staring at the ceiling.

"It was chosen as our base of operations because it's the least likely place for Ezekiel to have vanished," Naomi explained. "If he was killed because he was working off-books, which is currently our theory, it was unlikely he was working in such a popular tourist spot. La Paz and Todos are smaller; my bet is we'll turn up something there."

"Don't worry Garth, they still have beaches in La Paz," Charlie teased.

"Not as nice ones," he grumbled.

"Why're we splitting up like this?" Dean asked. "Doesn't it make sense for us to work with our, y'know, usual crews? Frankly, I don't get why you called us in for help with this at all."

Dean's questions were valid, but his hostility rippled uneasily through the group. If Dean didn't want to work with him, Castiel wondered why he didn't just say so. "Ezekiel was one of our own," Naomi said. "Our analysts have spent months searching for him, to no avail. Obviously we will have a role to play in finding him. But..."

"You're worried you have a blind spot," Charlie guessed. "Something you can't see, 'cause you're too close to it."

Naomi nodded. Dean shook his head, seemingly unconvinced but willing to move on. "This area," Naomi said, "It's rural. These cities are small, and they're used to a transient tourist population. If we're going to make any real inroads with the locals, our approach must be delicate. A mere whiff of law enforcement or organized activity could cause those involved to bolt."

"Undercover. Got it," Dean said. "Anything else we need to know?"

"No," Naomi said. "Would you like to finish your breakfast before we depart?"

"Real generous of you," Dean said, with a sickly smile. Naomi returned it tightly, then began a quiet discussion with Charlie about what sounded like server capacity. With a dark glance at their huddle, Dean gathered as much of his food as he could carry and left the room. He hadn't looked at Castiel once.

When they'd all finished eating and had retreated to their rooms to re-pack, Castiel cornered Naomi again. "Pairing me _alone_ with Dean? Is this some kind of prolonged test?"

She looked amused. "No, Castiel, I truly believe we'll benefit from his experience in this case. As to why you two are paired together, well... as I said, this is a mission that will require delicate probing of these communities. We picked Dean and his team because of their ability to blend in." Her eyebrows puckered slightly, the closest thing he believed Naomi was capable of to a wince. "Something you could work on."

He glared at her.

"I'm told this... Garth isn't as adept at social situations as would be necessary to partner you, and Charlie is their computer expert. I need her with me at HQ."

He blew out a frustrated breath. "Fine."

"But Castiel," she said. "It may behoove you to think of it as a test."

"Believe me," he said, "I'm used to your leadership style by now."

She smiled, already done packing, and left him alone in the empty room. In his own, he looked at his things piled on the bed and picked out the thick bottle of suppressant pills. He weighed it in his palm, heavy and comforting. 

Then he threw it against the wall, and left the pills scattered on the floor when he left.

*

Dean was waiting by his vehicle, a battered pick-up, when Castiel came outside with his bag. He flashed a non-smile as Castiel slung it into the bed, resting a hand possessively on the driver's-side roof. "So, _Jimmy_. Hope you weren't expecting to drive."

"I wasn't," Castiel said as he climbed in, "and you can call me Cas."

"Really?" Dean said, voice steeped in sarcasm, and Castiel flushed, wondering if Dean thought he was deliberately trying to recall that night. He clearly thought _Cas_ was as much a cover as _Jimmy_ was.

Perhaps he should have let the new name stand - it could provide a welcome sort of distance - but just the thought of it made him twitch. "Really," he said, trying to sound neutral.

"Whatever you say." He started the car and immediately rolled down both windows, drowning out the stuttering rattle of the engine by turning the AC on full-blast. It was chilly, even in the balmy weather, but he became flustered all over again once he realized what Dean was doing. He turned the collar up on his jacket and tugged the sleeves down, grateful he could pretend it was because of the chill and not that he was trying to wall off his own scent, as if they could just paint a line down the middle of the car and stick to their sides.

"So," Castiel said, "where's Sam?"

"Solo job," Dean said. They crunched out of the forest drive and onto a small highway, Dean's elbow leaning out of the open window. He looked about as comfortable as Castiel had ever seen him, which was to say marginally less walled-off and aloof.

"Ah," Castiel said. "I thought you two always worked together."

Dean shrugged. "It can be handy to make a little extra cash, when the right opportunity comes along. Like this one."

Castiel glanced at him. "Would you have taken this job if you knew it was with me?"

Dean gave him an arch look without really looking away from the road. "Would you?"

"I don't choose my jobs. I'm assigned." He paused, then added, "But I probably would have found a way to protest."

"Gotcha." Dean's tone was completely blank, and for perhaps the first time since he had presented, Castiel actually wished he could have detected anything from the tendril of Dean's scent that was making it through the wind besides _mmm_.

"You’re not... uneasy?" He pressed, warily. "About our... past?"

"Nah," Dean shrugged. "It wasn’t personal. At least, I assume it wasn’t personal," he said, voice easy, maddeningly calm. "If it was _personal_ , you probably wouldn’t have rolled around in bed with me before trying to kill me."

Castiel swallowed. "...No. It wasn’t personal."

"Like I said. You were paid to kill me and now you’re getting paid to work with me. So no," he said, mocking. "I ain’t _uneasy_."

"Great."

"Great."

Whatever Dean said, Castiel knew he'd be on his guard the entire time. Aside from the fact that they each knew what the other was capable of professionally, they still had their... mutual scent problem. Even if California didn't bother Dean, there was plenty of risk to go around.

Dean cleared his throat, breaking what had become a long silence, then said, "How has, uh, being un-Unpresented been treating you?"

"Fine," Castiel said reflexively, then realized Dean was going to notice it soon enough anyway. "I use full suppressants most of the time. Dealing with scents when I'm off them has been... difficult."

"I'll bet," Dean said, and there was a kernel of what sounded like genuine sympathy in his tone. Castiel settled into his seat a little bit, mollified. Then Dean laughed. "So she sent you on an undercover job when you're still dealing with all that? Wow." He was alarmingly handsome with a wide chuckle creasing his face. "This is gonna be fun."

"Yes," Castiel said tensely. "I am abuzz with anticipation."

Dean smiled again, more warmly this time, and it coaxed an answering smile out of Castiel. Dean's vanished the second he looked over and their eyes met. The pleasant scent that had been briefly gathering in the car was swept away by the wind.

It was only about an hour's drive to Todos. As they began to approach, Dean craned his head to glance expansively out the windshield, and said, "Seriously?" 

"What?"

"Look at this place," Dean said, tired and scornful. "It's not like I was expecting Sandals Paradise, but God."

Todos Santos was a tiny city wedged between mountains and the Pacific, the forested hills bleeding straight into cracked, yellow desert, which led straight into the beach. They hadn't actually passed any visible shore yet, but there were No Swimming signs everywhere warning of the undertow. The landscape was savagely beautiful, scrubby cacti an odd sight against a backdrop of misty blue mountains, pocked with a million potential hiding places. Perfect for dumping bodies.

The town itself was no polished tourist haven; it looked like the traffic from Cabo was overflowing into the area rather than picking it for its inherent charms, and it was visibly struggling to gentrify fast enough, a few posh art galleries mixed in among more run-down shops and houses. They were on a paved road, but most that they passed were still dirt. There was a fair bit of graffiti. "I think it's beautiful," Castiel said. Dean rolled his eyes at him.

Their hotel was the Posada de los Colibríes, but the part of town it was in did not remind Castiel of hummingbirds. The roads were narrow, lined with crumbling brick buildings that overflowed with ivy and blood-red flowers and were connected by drooping electric and clothes lines overhead. Where the walls were covered with paint or stucco it had often cracked, as if over-baked by the hot sun, and many featured hand-painted advertisements. Castiel pointed out the sign for the inn, and Dean pulled the truck to a shuddering stop in an alley off to the side. On closer examination, it looked like before its life as a half-star hotel it had been a church.

"Pueblo Magico," Dean read off a sign on the front as they walked in. He scoffed.

The lobby was no more promising than the exterior had been, cool in the dappled shade from a partially-open roof, floor a wide, pock-marked marble checker. Their room was much the same - a wide section of crumbling plaster along one wall, water spots on the ceiling, a view of the bright orange stucco of the hotel next door, and an ancient bed in a rusty, wrought-iron bedframe set diagonally against one corner.

_One_ bed.

Dean sighed, dropping his bag heavily. "You take the bed," Castiel offered, "I’ll -"

"You tried to kill me, damn right I’ll take the bed," Dean interrupted, hopping onto it and grimacing as he bounced with a creak.

"I was going to say I’ll take it tomorrow," Cas said, "but. Okay."

Dean was already ignoring him, typing something into his phone. Hoping to find another blanket, Castiel explored the room; it did not take long. He felt uncomfortably aware of the purpose of such barebones establishments - there was only one reason to stay in a room like this, with absolutely no appeal of its own and only one thing to do to pass the time. 

Dean either hadn't noticed or wasn't commenting on it. His phone rang and he picked up with a laugh. "Hey Charlie. How's Cabo?" He got off the bed and wandered out of the room, chattering more, clearly stalling until he was out of Castiel's earshot. Castiel ignored him, grabbing the file Naomi had given them on Ezekiel's disappearance and loading it onto his phone, checking through all the documents methodically.

When Dean still hadn't returned, he started to unpack his things, leaving plenty of room in the battered dresser. He left a few shirts in his duffel and arranged it on the section of the floor he had decided would be most comfortable, then got his Walther out and started carefully checking and cleaning it. Dean walked back into the room, smiling at his phone, and had his gun drawn and pointed at Castiel in a second.

Comprehension was already dawning in his eyes as Castiel began to speak, but he said anyway, slowly and with emphasis, "I was cleaning it."

"Okay," Dean said, cocking his head at Castiel assessingly. He still hadn't holstered his own weapon.

"Dean," Castiel said. "You did say you weren't uneasy."

"I'm not," Dean said. "I'm also not stupid. You gotta admit this bears a striking resemblance to the last time we saw each other."

Castiel walked slowly toward Dean, holding his gun out grip-first. "Naomi hired you to help us find Ezekiel." 

Dean didn't move as he approached, and Castiel realized he wasn't scared. If half the things Dean was reputed to have done were true, Castiel didn't think he was even capable of fear. Instead, he had the air of someone playing chess - weighing his moves carefully, judging his opponent, determined not to lose.

"If you can't believe that," Castiel said, stopping a few feet from Dean and lifting his gun in supplication, "at least believe that I would never willingly put myself in a situation where my suppressants didn't work unless I absolutely had to."

Dean slowly holstered his gun and took Cas's. Their fingers brushed, hot against the cool metal, and Dean sucked in a breath, looking up at Castiel. "Yeah. Why would you do that?"

Castiel let go of the gun. "So we're good?"

Dean offered it back to him with a cool smile. "Perfect."

*

Ezekiel had last been seen walking into a bar on Calle Ocampo. It had no name, but it was squat, ringed with cafe lights that glowed in the dim afternoon sun, and the tequila had an icy cold burn that made Dean's scent fizz.

They were supposed to be laying low, so by mutual unspoken agreement they just sat and drank when they first arrived. Since Dean clearly wasn't going to actually chat with Castiel, he ended up shooting the breeze with the bartender, Luis, in fluent if charmingly accented Spanish. The man had refused to believe they weren't tourists at first, but Dean had woven some kind of intricate tale about them working at a surf shop just up the road that only required Castiel to nod along, and by the time the sun set Luis was pouring them free drinks and giving Dean the oral history of the unnamed bar.

Castiel had always been able to blend in when required, mostly by making himself unremarkable. But Dean was something else - he came to life, joking, cajoling, flirting, and yet he seemed more and more at home in the bar as the night wore on. And he _was_ flirting - Castiel had thought he was being paranoid at first, but it was unmistakable. Luis was likely a beta, and mid-aged and balding at that, but you wouldn't have known from the way Dean leaned across the bar and grinned as he asked for a refill, the rough edge to his whisper as they traded made-up gossip.

They both jumped a bit when Castiel slammed his glass onto the bar. "Another, please."

"No problem, buddy," Luis said, and sidled away with a spooked look.

"What's the deal," Dean said through a grin. "We need him chatty."

"Sorry," Castiel said. "A lot of scents in here. For a second I got dizzy."

Dean flicked his eyes over him speculatively but couldn't reply before Luis came back. "Where were we," Dean said. "You get any tourists in here? Ever?"

Dean was tall, strong - intimidating, omega or not, and he was surely capable of beating or scaring intel out of a mark, but it was clear he loved charming people out of their secrets too. The life of a male omega couldn't have been easy, so it made sense that Dean would work it to his advantage - people were obviously more willing to talk to an omega, possibly because they didn't think omegas were really listening, or even there at all. The scent alone probably distracted people into saying more than they should - as Dean did another shot, long column of his throat gleaming in the dim light, Castiel saw Luis lazily scenting him. Castiel shifted on his bar stool until his shoulder was pressed up against Dean's, his body ever so slightly caging him in.

Dean started at the touch but quickly adjusted, shooting Cas a grin. "Starting to feel those drinks?"

That's right - they didn't exactly have full cover stories, but everyone would assume an alpha and omega were together, so huddling close like this was merely being in character. Castiel smiled back at him. "So it would seem."

Dean turned to Luis. "You cook? I think this one's gonna need to eat soon."

"'Course," Luis said with a grin. "Think I can whip something up for you."

There was still tequila shining on Dean's full lower lip. "Great."

Castiel rolled his glass between his palms, their arms wedged against each other, the back of his hand grazing Dean's. He worried some condensation between his thumb and finger, then let his hand fall back, fingers tracing the veins on the back of Dean's hand, idly playing with the delicate bones. He rubbed small circles into the skin with his thumb, slow and firm.

He blinked back from a thoughtless place, then started in mortification when he realized he had been _scent-marking Dean_. He tried to snatch his hand back discreetly. _What was he doing?_

Dean was staring at him, of course. He looked up warily and tried to convey an unspoken apology. Dean just glared at him stonily, and Castiel frowned, only to realize his foot was up Dean's pant leg. He snatched it back, blushing, and grabbed a handful of pretzels to distract himself.

"Y'know, we came to this bar because we heard it was the best," Dean was saying.

"Really?" 

"Yeah, our friend Zeke told us it was the best spot in town. No tourists, good music, good booze."

"That's the truth."

"Plus you," Dean said, grinning widely. Castiel grabbed another few pretzels, even though he wasn't hungry. His fingers almost seemed drawn to the bowl, and he glanced up at Dean, wondering if he would eat some too. Then he realized - he wanted to be touching Dean's food. He wanted Dean to be eating his scent. He imagined Dean eating from his fingers, how he'd love to fatten Dean up if he could be the one feeding him, pushing his come between Dean's lips -

He reared back mentally and physically, but it was too late - Dean and Luis were both staring at him, partway between amused and traumatized. Luis broke first. "Time to go home, I think."

Dean laughed along. "Babe, if you wanted to stay in you could've just said."

Castiel chuckled weakly and gestured with this glass. "Are you sure this isn't an aphrodisiac?"

"All of Baja's an aphrodisiac, pal," Luis said good-naturedly, and wandered away from what must've been an almost visible cloud of Castiel's lust stench.

The minute he was out of earshot Dean gave him a disappointed look that didn't completely hide his smirk. "You gotta get better at masking that shit, buddy. Start to go down a bad road, think of something horrifying."

Castiel glared at him. "Just because I was Unpresented doesn’t mean I didn’t put out scent. I am aware of how to control myself."

"Oh yeah," Dean asked, cocking his head to the side and exposing his neck.

Castiel looked at the clean, gold expanse of skin, and his mouth actually watered.

"Yeah," Dean snorted at the scent that had accompanied Castiel's thoughts. "You need more practice. We’re... y’know, whatever, and an alpha and omega on their honeymoon ain’t a bad cover story, but it’s gonna start distracting our marks if you can’t rein it in."

"I am perfectly capable of _reining_ ," Castiel said icily.

"Good to know," Dean said. He contemplated Castiel for a moment. "You know, I thought you might've been faking the whole Unpresented thing when we first met."

"Yes. Well," Castiel said tersely. "If I haven't compromised us for the entire evening, you should get him back here."

"Yup," Dean said. "Hey, Luis!"

The bartender jogged back over to them, the slight relief on his face telling Castiel his scent must have dissipated somewhat. Dean rubbed a hand along Castiel's shoulder, smiling in an embarrassed, ingratiating way. "I gotta get him out of here, y'know how it is."

"Sure," Luis said, smiling. "You guys come back, though."

"We definitely will," Dean said, standing and throwing some bills down on the table. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Hey, you see Zeke in here, tell him we're in town - guy's not answering his phone."

Luis squinted. "Which one's he again?"

"White guy, alpha, brown hair, built like a truck," Dean said, waving a hand lazily as he downed his drink. "Kinda... stiff?"

"How stiff?" Luis said appraisingly.

"Like a corpse," Dean said. "But trust me, when he parties..."

Luis laughed. "I'd believe it."

"Why's that?"

"Hey, I don't wanna dog your friend..." Luis said, waving slightly in protest.

"Oh, don't hold out on me now," Dean said.

"If it's the guy I'm thinking of, I saw him in here a couple times meeting someone," Luis said. "For business. _And_ pleasure, if you know what I mean."

"Zeke?" Dean said, and he was the picture of a man who had just been given priceless dirt on a friend. "I _told_ you, Cas, didn't I tell ya?" He turned back to Luis, his joy infectious. "What's his type? I gotta know, I am never going to stop giving him shit about this."

"Omega," Luis said. "You know, a smaller guy. Also a gringo, same kinda coloring."

"Look at that," Dean said. "Classic Zeke. Alright, we'll see you around, Luis!"

On the walk back to the hotel, Castiel contemplated calling Naomi, telling her the assignment was completely unworkable. If he couldn't control himself long enough for Dean to just chat with a potential witness... He glanced at Dean, walking silently alongside him. He was starting to get used to the constant sway of Dean's scent nearby, but the night had a scent of its own, calm but energized, like potential hanging in the air, a charge arcing across a wire. Or maybe that was Dean too, another thread of his scent Castiel hadn't experienced yet.

He'd decide about calling Naomi in the morning.

*

When Castiel woke up the floor was hard on his back, even through the blanket he'd slept on, but Castiel didn't care. He was buoyed, comforted, enveloped in the most delicious sensation he'd ever felt - a scent that was so thick and perfect it felt like a down blanket, wrapping him up and enticing him to wakefulness just so he could pull it around him tighter, sink his fingers into it and never let go.

His eyes opened lazily, taking in the shaft of sunlight cutting into the room, baking it to the perfect temperature to break out in a light, cool sweat. His muscles were sore but his skin felt alive, tingling, because the room smelled _perfect_ \- like sleep, and warmth, and the promise of more sweet satisfaction just out of reach.

He stumbled up and scrubbed a hand over his face, almost growling. Everything was almost perfect, almost as it should be, he just needed to find...

_Dean_. He shivered as he realized what the room smelled like - like both their scents woven together, bottled up, sated and warm and inviting, making Castiel sleepy and wired-up at the same time. He had slept on the floor, but the room smelled like he had slept in the bed, rolled around with Dean until daybreak. He couldn't help creeping slightly closer to the center of the room, to where Dean was stretched out in the center of the bed, facedown, still asleep, and dreaming. He had to have been dreaming, because he was smiling, stretching slightly, rolling down into the mattress, fingers flexing in his pillow, pulling it towards him and taking deep, rough breaths. Castiel could climb in next to him. They could lay together, scent each other instead of the room, follow the sweet, delirious promise -

Castiel bolted to the window and pushed it open, taking deep breaths of the cold, garbage-y alleyway air. 

From behind him he heard a sleep-thick, "Whuh?" He took a few more bracing breaths and then glanced back. Dean was propped up on an elbow, blinking blearily. For a second those eyes were dark, unfocused, the same unseeing pleasure on his face as had been there in sleep. 

Then he came to his senses. His face closed off, his eyes flicked over Cas, and his voice was hoarse when he said, "Thanks. Smells like crap in here."

"Uh huh," Castiel said dazedly.


	3. Chapter 3

"This is where you think we'll find Ezekiel's omega companion?"

They were at a cafe just across from the beach, nestled in the shadow of a dramatic cliff that plunged into the water. There were only a few errant umbrellas and trash cans on the sand obscuring their view of the surf. The sound of the waves was hypnotically soothing, the water something straight out of an ad - royal blue at the furthest point, fading to a bright turquoise as it approached, and right around where the waves began to break, he could actually see the clouds of sand in the water that dyed it the mint green that washed ashore, studded with pools of cool white surf. It was almost as magnetic as Dean.

"Yup," Dean said, putting his feet up on one of the empty chairs at their small table. "Places like this, the red-light district's not usually a street so much as a person. We're gonna people-watch, have some coffee, and sniff 'em out."

Castiel sipped his coffee, but grimaced at the rest of it. "I might not be much help."

Indecision warred on Dean's face for a moment before he sat forward, his disinterest sliding away. "What's it like?"

Castiel shrugged. "I can scent now, but it's barely useable. Much more of a hindrance than a help. Just waking up every day -" he broke off, uncomfortable, willing to tell himself the slight pink on Dean's cheeks was from the hot sun. "I can't pick scents out, and even when I can, I don't know what any of them mean."

Dean's frown was pensive, analytical. "Well, they don't necessarily _mean_ anything."

Castiel hadn't heard that before. "What?"

"It's like... like body language," he said, settling into the topic. "You might see someone pacing, or cross their arms, or bite their lip, but you don't know why. One person looks down when he feels guilty, but on another that's just embarrassment, or maybe boredom. S'same with scents. You get to know the people close to you, sure, you can call 'em on their scent, but total strangers, out in the world?" He shrugged. "Broad strokes, yeah. Pure rage, pure happiness, pure, uh, mating stink," he said, looking as willing as Castiel to push right past any awkward moments. "But anything more complicated - look, even before you presented, you wouldn't be able to swear you knew when someone was lying, right?"

"Right."

"There you go," Dean nodded. "It's not some key to the universe. It's just people's BO, for crying out loud."

Castiel smiled, but said, "Believe me, I wish I could go back to being Unpresented. There's so much to notice when scent isn't an issue."

Dean looked away, drumming his stirring stick against his coffee cup, then said, "Let's practice."

"Practice what?"

"Most important thing for a spook," Dean grinned. "Let's see if you can smell a lie."

"You just said -"

"Yeah, you can't be _sure_ ," Dean said, "but we can get you in the ballpark, the scent of _obvious_ shiftiness. Here, ask me something."

Castiel contemplated Dean for a minute, his practiced relaxation, half-smile like a crouch. "Was that you at the wedding?"

"What wedding?" 

Castiel sniffed the air. The salt and the people and the cafe and the street were still overwhelming - he hadn't tasted his coffee so far, hadn't ever really tasted anything off the suppressants - and up until now he had been trying to ignore Dean's scent, tapping insistently at his senses like one piece laying outside a finished puzzle. Had it changed? How could he possibly tell?

"Lie."

"Yeah," Dean admitted, dropping his gaze and smiling ruefully. "I, uh, smelled you too. Blew the bomb a... little early." He frowned at Castiel. "Did you smell the lie?"

"No."

Dean _tsk_ ed. "Okay, my turn."

"Why do you get a turn? You know how to scent."

"We're also practicing what you put out," Dean said. "K, here's mine - how do I smell to you?"

"Like an omega."

Dean made a buzzer noise. Castiel protested. "That was the truth!"

"Lie of omission," Dean said. "You're smelling, to me, kinda like..." he mulled for a second, fingers on his lower lip. "Guilt?" He smiled a bit at whatever was on Castiel's face - or perhaps, in his scent. "Talking about my scent makes you ashamed?"

"I am... wary," Castiel said carefully.

Dean looked surprised by his honesty. He sat back and coughed, turning his coffee cup in his hands. "Yeah. Know what you mean. My friend Bobby, he quit smoking a while back, and he always said cigs smelled crappy to him, but because," he laughed, "they smelled so _good_ , and he couldn't -" he met Castiel's eye briefly before glancing out at the beach. "Anyway."

"What do I smell like?" Castiel asked curiously.

Dean shrugged, and something about his scent definitely changed this time, but it had settled back into the unknowable complete before Castiel could make any guess. "Same kinda deal. Why?"

"I don't smell... off?"

Dean frowned. "Why would you smell _off_?"

Castiel shrugged. "I don't know. Being on suppressants most of the time, or having been Unpresented so long - most people say I smell strange. Alpha, but... not."

This time Dean's scent definitely stirred up and deepened somehow. Castiel clenched his fist in frustration - it was like trying to capture the dialect of colors. "Uh, nope, smell fine to me. Okay, so -"

"Wait, it was my turn."

"No, you asked how you smell."

"That wasn't part of the game."

Dean ignored him, and this time he didn't dress his question up as casual. "Would you have gone ahead with it? Your job, once we were done?"

Castiel didn't move, just kept his eyes square on Dean. "Yes." 

Dean sniffed, probably redundantly. He let the moment hang, then said, "Huh."

Their people-watching struck out, but they waited until it was cold to return to the hotel.

*

That night before they hit the lights, Dean pointedly opened the window. Castiel wasn't exactly comfortable under his threadbare blanket with a breeze blowing in, but he'd prefer it to any further tension. He wrapped it tight around his shoulders, rolled over, and tried to relax.

They made it a few uneventful minutes before the sounds started drifting in.

At first it was easy enough to dismiss as the wind, or maybe snatches of the party going on in the street. Then, maybe because the breeze was blowing just right, the noise sharpened a bit, becoming a woman's voice, just barely audible: " _Please... please..._ "

Castiel shifted on the floor. "Do you hear that?"

"I thought it was -"

Another soft gasp drifted into the room. Dean got out of bed and looked out the window, pulling his head back in after a moment to report tersely, "Betas. Next hotel over."

"...oh," Castiel said.

Dean shrugged tightly. "Not a big deal. Had to sleep through worse."

"Okay," Castiel said, lying down. 

He couldn't be sure if the scent of the two women was muted by the alley between them or if it had seeped into the room and he just hadn't noticed, but the noise was more than enough to preoccupy him. The fact that it was barely there made it somehow worse - instead of seeming farther away, it was as if they were in the room with them, inches away, trying to muffle themselves, the half-moans so much louder for being strangled back. Dean was tossing and turning on the bed.

" _I'm ready... ready, c'mon..._ " The voices pitched louder and softer unevenly, making Castiel picture a palm pressed unsteadily against someone's mouth. " _...please, oh... touch..._ " 

Castiel squirmed. He was actually aroused, though there was nothing appealing to him about the idea of the unknown betas mating. The thought that Dean might be able to smell his inappropriate arousal was embarrassing, so he took a deep breath to try to calm himself. The air only burned hotter against him, and then he realized _that_ was why he was getting hard - the scent of the room had changed, thickened, was growing heady and alluring, like this morning but sharper, dragging across Castiel's skin.

" _Yes - yes! ...perfect, right... god, yes -_ "

Dean jumped out of bed and slammed the window shut. "Too cold anyway," he growled.

"Mmhm," Castiel mumbled. He had rolled over onto his stomach carefully, so all he could smell was the moldy floor. The bed creaked as Dean settled in again, and Castiel shivered finely, forcing himself into stillness.

The occasional moan still made it through the thin windowpane.

*

Castiel woke up the next morning to Dean's gasp.

The room was a sauna of their combined scents, baking away Castiel's sanity, stoking a hint of that same heat under the skin he'd felt in his rut. Dean was sitting up in bed, staring down at him wild-eyed, panting like he'd run a marathon. "Get out," he choked. "Go get breakfast."

Castiel stared at his parted lips. Dean threw his covers off and stalked to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Castiel shook his head until his vision swam, then pushed himself up, got dressed, and went for a run.

He set a slow pace, and the jolt of sudden wakefulness, the scent of the city around him, the thick smell of salt, and the lulling repetitive motion of his own limbs eventually helped him settle. By the time he came back, he smelled unpleasant but the room smelled safe once more, the window open to let dry air blow in. Dean was sitting on the bed, fully dressed, hair wet, and he looked upset, hands clenched and leg jittering. When he saw Castiel his eyes widened in shock.

"I thought you were going for food?" He asked, standing.

"I had, uh," Castiel said. "Energy to burn."

"Oh," Dean said, eyes dragging down his body and back up. He smelled wonderful - shampoo-y, something at last Castiel could pinpoint. But he still looked agitated, and almost - wronged, somehow.

Castiel glanced down at himself, then around the room. "What?"

"Nothing," Dean said. "I'll - go get breakfast."

"Okay," Castiel said. "I should probably shower."

"Nngh," Dean coughed, then said, "Meet you in the lobby."

*

On their second day of people-watching, away from the beach and down a side street that was busier than its few shops and cafes seemed to justify, they found him.

First they found a woman. Dean perked up as she walked by, nodding to Castiel to start following her. When she turned a corner and they followed, she was waiting for them in the damp, shadowy alley. "Heya fellas," she grinned. "Smell something you like?"

Dean slipped into an equally charming smile without missing a beat. "Maybe."

Her eyes flicked between them, equal attention paid to both. _Beta_. "You like to watch, or...?"

Dean laughed and put a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "My uh, my alpha - " a jolt went up Castiel's spine - "He's shy, but he's always had a two-for-one thing..."

"Ohh, I see," she said, smiling widely. "I know a guy you should meet."

Dean echoed her excitement. "Lead the way."

The house she took them to stank, not the literal sewage or bitterness smells Castiel was used to from his previous life, but the kind of intangible, pheromonal scent he was learning meant _people_ , usually up to no good. There were a half-dozen of them milling around, indistinguishable to Castiel as either clients or workers, but their guide led them straight to a smaller man lounging in an overstuffed armchair that made him look positively waifish. Castiel felt Dean stiffen as they both realized - white, brown hair. Omega.

"Sandro, I think these guys could show you a good time," she said.

He picked her enthusiasm up like a virus. "Oh yeah?"

"Thanks, sweetheart," Dean said, and turned back to the omega. "You got somewhere we can go?"

He took them to a private room. When the door had closed behind them he slunk towards Dean, the picture of a stereotypical omega: small where Dean was broad, coy where Dean was blunt, eyelashes fluttering, bow mouth puckered. Castiel supposed his scent was vaguely reminiscent of Dean's, in the same genus - like an air freshener and a pine forest. 

The man had clearly assumed the same scenario Dean had described to the woman, but Dean pushed him away with a grimace. "No thanks, buddy. We're actually looking for a friend of yours."

"A _friend_ , huh?" Sandro said, all waggling eyebrows.

"Yeah," Dean said flatly. "He's white, tall - name's Zeke. You know him?"

"Nope." He said, still grinning flirtatiously. "But don't worry, if you need more we have _plenty_ of guys like that -"

"You're not hearing me," Dean said, taking a warning step forward. "Ezekiel? That name ringing a bell?"

"I... see a _lot_ of guys -" Sandro said, smile faltering a bit.

"Look, I don't give a crap about your whore's code or whatever," Dean said, advancing again to tower over him. "Tell us what you know."

Sandro actually pouted, slinking out from Dean's shadow to circle Castiel. "You're pushy."

"Zeke is a friend," Castiel said calmly, while Dean glowered at them. "We're worried about him. We haven't seen him in a while."

"Aw, I'll bet," Sandro clucked, and he ran a hand up Castiel's arm, squeezing it through the layers of his jacket and shirt. His scent wafted over him, not unpleasant, but to Castiel just one of the many new scents he'd just as soon do without. "You smell worried. And lonely." He cast a look over to Dean through his eyelashes, then leaned in to whisper to Castiel, "He not taking care of you, honey? I can smell it on you - all stopped up." His voice popped obscenely over the words as his fingers drifted up Castiel's neck, then pulled gently at his lower lip. "Let me help."

The next second he was across the room, slammed up against the wall with Dean pulling his arm tight behind his back.

"Hey!" Sandro squawked. "I'm gonna scream -"

"No need for that, when you can just talk," Dean said smoothly. "E. Zeke. Iel. Whaddya know?"

"I - he was just a normal guy!" Sandro panted. "A little weird. Not as weird as _you_ guys -"

Dean slammed him into the wall another inch or so, Sandro whining in pain. "Weird how?"

"I dunno, he told me to be Abner. Whoever that is."

Dean shot a look at Castiel. He shrugged. "Did he say he was leaving town? Where he was headed next?"

"Yeah, 'cause that's what we did," he scoffed, breathlessly. " _Talked_."

"C'mon, Sandro," Dean purred. "You seem good at your job. You telling me you can't remember _anything_?"

Sandro panted indignantly. "I - he talked about all the usual tourist crap. The beach, the galleries."

"Galleries?" Dean said. "Art galleries? Any in particular?"

"Jesus Christ, man," Sandro complained. "We only talked for a second, that's all I remember."

Dean gave it another moment, then sighed, letting Sandro slide down the wall. "Thanks for your time, kid," he said, peeling a few bills out of his wallet and handing them over.

"Fuck you," Sandro hissed, grabbing the money and stalking out.

When he was gone Castiel said, "We're supposed to be laying low."

"That's how people treat whores, Cas," Dean said heavily. "This is laying low." There was a bitter scent to the room - Sandro's fear, or whatever was making Dean's movements jerky as he shoved his wallet back in his pocket, or both. 

"Maybe I should go talk to him," Castiel suggested, pausing as Dean's head snapped up. "Smooth things...over?"

"You want that?" Dean asked, tone chipped on the edges.

"Or we could go," Castiel said slowly.

Dean gave him an exasperated glare, and his scent rolled across Castiel as they walked out.

*

They took their chances with the window open again that night. Castiel couldn't help but feel like he was bracing himself as he lay there in the dark, and judging by the tossing and turning from the bed, neither could Dean.

After a particularly violent thrashing, he asked, "...Dean?"

"I'm fine," Dean said gruffly. "Just can't sleep."

"Expecting the lovers?" Castiel asked.

Dean laughed a little. Castiel said, "When you said you'd slept through worse..."

He let the question hang, and there was silence for a while. Then Dean said, "Had to get into a biker gang once. The kinda stuff they'd do in the back of that bar, while you'd be trying to get some sleep up above -" he _tsk_ ed in irritation. Castiel nodded, though Dean couldn't see.

"You?" Dean asked.

Castiel considered. "Probably artillery fire."

Dean whistled. There was another pause, this one quieter, until Dean added, "There was also this time my little brother thought he could get laid in the same room as me without waking me up."

"Oh my god," Castiel said, mortified and immediately picturing it.

Dean was laughing into his pillow. "Fuckin' perv."

"I'm so glad I was Unpresented," Castiel said. 

They fell asleep laughing.


	4. Chapter 4

They'd checked a few galleries after leaving the whorehouse, all to no avail. They resumed in the morning, starting at a particularly posh gallery that mostly exhibited lush, abstract takes on the Todos seascape. Castiel went in first, grabbing a proffered flute of champagne and declining the assistant's offer of help. About ten minutes later, Dean entered.

"Good morning," the woman said warmly. "Can I help you with anything in particular?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean said. "My alpha, he's always talking about how much he loves this gallery. Our, uh, our anniversary's coming up, and I wanted to get him something."

"What a lovely idea," the woman cooed. "What kind of piece are you looking for?"

"Well, that's the thing," Dean said, his shy embarrassment pitched just right to draw the woman in. "I don't know much about art - I was hoping... maybe you could tell me what he looked at, when he was here?"

"I can try!" The woman laughed. "Who's your alpha?"

"His name's Ezekiel," Dean said. "Zeke. He's about my height, same kinda coloring..."

"Oh, yes!" The woman said, voice lighting up, and Castiel forced himself to remain staring at the oil in front of him. "I remember your fella. Very... solemn, am I right?"

"That's Zeke," Dean said, laughing affectionately. Castiel's fingers dug a tight loop around the stem of his glass. "He comes in here a lot, huh?"

"Only once or twice, I think," the woman said, adding proudly, "But I have a knack for names."

"Of course you do," Dean said. "Well, what kind of stuff was he looking at?"

"To be honest," she said slowly, "I didn't peg him as a collector. He asked mostly about our most expensive pieces. I think he might have been more interested in investing than anything he liked personally."

"Really?" 

"I can show you some pieces we expect to appreciate nicely, if that's something you're interested in?"

Dean laughed. "Uh, I don't -"

"Oh, I know," she clucked, and though Castiel was still looking at the paintings, in his peripheral vision he could see her reach out and clasp Dean's elbow. "They're all numbers and facts, aren't they? We're the ones that keep the marriage alive."

"Uh... yeah," Dean said. 

"How many years has it been?" She asked before he could resume his questions.

"Not long," he said.

"Well," she said brightly, "you smell like he's taking good care of you."

Castiel choked violently on his champagne. "My god, sir, are you okay?" The woman cried, rushing to his side.

"Fine," he gasped.

"Let me get you a towel -"

"No, no," he said, waving her off. "I think I'll just - go."

"My apologies!" She shouted as he walked out the door. 

He found a cafe across the street and waited there, kicking himself for disrupting the plan. Dean exited a few minutes later, and they met up several blocks away. "You alright?" Dean asked.

"Fine," Castiel said. "Did you get anything else from her?"

"Not unless you're in the market for some pricey blobs of blue paint," Dean said. "What the hell was he doing?"

"I don't know," Castiel said, rubbing his forehead. "We should report back."

"Maybe hit up some more of the fancier galleries?" Dean said, thumbing open his phone.

"Dean," Castiel said, watching him tap out a message. "What did she mean? About your scent?"

Dean gave him a warning glace without raising his head from his phone. "I don't know."

"Dean." Castiel said. "I'm not being invasive, but if there's some... scent-based principle at work here that I don't know about, I could use your tutelage."

"So your invasiveness is for good reason," Dean deadpanned.

Castiel stared at him.

"I honestly don't know, Cas," he sighed, putting away his phone. "Maybe she thought I smelled... happy, or whatever."

"Oh," Castiel said.

Dean's phone buzzed in response to his text, then continued buzzing. Dean frowned at it and answered on speaker. "Yeah?"

"Hey, it's me. Jimmy there?" Charlie asked.

"He's right here," Dean said, and Castiel moved closer. "You have something on the art thing already?"

"No, something else," she said. "We think we may have a new sighting of Zeke, a few days after he was seen at that bar. It's from an ATM just outside Todos."

“An ATM?" Dean asked skeptically. "You're telling me someone on Naomi's end didn't comb that footage carefully enough?"

"They did," Charlie said, a hint of smugness in her voice. "But they didn't have _my_ facial recognition software."

Dean laughed. "Okay, where's this ATM?"

*

Ezekiel's newest last-known location was a motel a mile north of town. It was about as run-down as their inn, though in a more generic way - wood paneled walls, chartreuse paisley wallpaper, a lingering odor that even Castiel's novice senses identified as _wrong_. The ATM was attached to a structure along the outside of the building, across from the parking lot, but they went into the lobby first, asking enough odd questions to get the clerk to go in search of his manager so Dean could rifle through the check-in book.

"I dunno, any of this striking a bell with you?" Dean asked, tilting it to Castiel.

He shrugged, and snapped a picture of a few of the pages with his phone. "I can see if Naomi can do a handwriting analysis. I doubt he signed in under _Ezekiel_."

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "Let's check the ATM."

It was ancient and moderately defaced, with a mirrored, fishbowl camera. Dean chewed his lip while Castiel glanced around the parking lot and the rooms that rung it. "Could this be any more different than that fancy art gallery?"

"No," Castiel said. "It is odd."

"What the fuck was he doing here?" Dean asked, seemingly to himself.

"Meeting someone?"

Dean kicked some gravel. "Doesn't help us."

"Do you always assume things that help you?"

"Better than admitting we're stumped." Dean pulled out his phone. "I'll ask Charlie if there were any police reports around here around that time, but I'm thinking she would've mentioned it. Maybe Zeke was working an... art heist job."

"And asking the friendly gallery owner which of her paintings to steal?"

"And... hiding 'em here, the last place anyone would look?" Dean sighed roughly. "What the fuck."

"Maybe he was looking for someone," Castiel suggested. "Just like we are."

"So...?"

"So he was checking motels in bad areas," Castiel said. "Let's do the same."

Dean considered this, then shrugged. "Not like we're doing anything else."

Accommodations in the area were either opulent, which they skipped entirely, or extremely poor, which was where they focused their attention, working in a clockwise pattern around central Todos. It was tedious work, requiring many of the same questions, over and over, always with the same fixed, polite smiles. Castiel wondered if he would ever be able to deduce something like exhaustion or frustration from Dean's scent instead of from the tension in his back or the creases around his eyes. He did perk up once, but it was only when a name on one of the check-in sheets was shared by a famous musician, and his grumpiness returned as soon as it became clear Castiel had never heard of either John Bonham or Led Zeppelin.

They checked the other hotels in downtown Todos last. Castiel noted the feeling of being watched as they made their way down an alley barely the width of their shoulders, the sun splashed orange along the tops of the walls. It was likely par for the course in the area. Dean's nostrils flared with each person they passed.

They were both irritable by the time they'd returned to the truck after an unusually frustrating conversation with the latest hostel owner. "Only two more, right?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Castiel said, turning around to wait for Dean to unlock the car and then drawing his gun.

"What -" Dean asked, eyes going wide. Castiel aimed over his shoulder and Dean dropped to the ground, and Castiel put two bullets in the man at the front of the group approaching them. As he fell, Dean scrambled to get behind the truck with Castiel, and the rest of the group raised their weapons. Castiel squeezed off a few more shots then ducked down by Dean as the truck rocked under a hail of gunfire.

"You out?" Dean asked, drawing his gun.

"Yes," Castiel said. "They will be too in a second."

"Mmmhm," Dean said, crouching up past the car's hood and firing a few times, then ducking back. "Now it's three."

Several more shots, and then silence fell. "They're out," Castiel said, and shuffled around the other side of the car.

" _Cas,_ " Dean hissed behind him.

A very tall man met Castiel at the truck's bed, taking a wide swing at him and missing. Castiel dropped him with a hit to the kidneys that would keep him down for a while, then proceeded to the man behind him, who was holding a switchblade. That wasn't good. More gunshots peppered out behind them, and Castiel ducked down, getting a shoulder into the guy's gut to take them both to the ground. He punched him in the face, dodging the knife, then again, and then the guy managed to cut him glancingly across the shoulder. Castiel tried to wrestle the knife out of his grip, but the scuffle allowed the man to roll them, get on top of Castiel before scrambling around, looking for the knife.

Castiel had it, and put it in his eye. Hot blood spurted over Castiel's face, and he grimaced, shoving the guy's twitching corpse to the side and pushing to his feet.

Dean's gun was on one of the last remaining members of the group, who seemed fairly upset with the position he'd found himself in, but Dean’s eyes were on Castiel, his mouth slightly open. 

"Why did you attack us?" Castiel asked.

Dean refocused on the man as he said, "You - you - you roughed up one of our whores - we thought - you might be cops -"

"Oh," Dean said, sharing a glance with Castiel that seemed to echo his disappointment - _not about Ezekiel_. "Well, we're not."

"No shit!" The guy said shrilly.

"Look, we promise not to mess with your establishment anymore, okay?" Dean said. "Run along."

"Jesus Christ," the guy said, as he slowly stood on wobbly legs and then jogged away. Across the parking lot, another one they'd only injured was quickly following.

Castiel grimaced as he shook out his hand, drops of blood splattering onto the pavement. The smell of copper was everywhere, overpowering, but underneath it a fresh, heavy scent seemed to be rising off the hot asphalt, setting an ache scraping along under Castiel's skin.

Dean was staring at him, then shook his head. "C'mon," he grunted, gesturing to the truck. "Good thing we're not in the Impala."

"What?" Castiel asked as he climbed in. It was hard to talk without letting any of the blood get into his mouth.

"Nothing," Dean said. He rooted around the center compartment for some napkins and handed a few to Castiel for his shoulder, then began daubing at Castiel's face. But the blood was tacky and the dry napkin just seemed to spread it around, so Dean sucked a thumb into his mouth and laughed a little as he used it to wipe the worst of the mess away. "Sorry, I'm not exactly Florence Nightingale."

It should have been a maternal cliché, but instead Castiel went stock still at the touch, at the realization that Dean was _rubbing his scent into him_. It seemed drugging, as if his skin was trying to drink in the moisture, hoard Dean's perfect scent somewhere deep inside where it would become a part of him. He felt starved for the slick slide of Dean's skin against his.

Dean pulled his hand away and Castiel's shot out to grab it before he had realized what he was doing. Dean glanced down at where Castiel held his wrist in a vice grip, and tugged once, almost in a daze, then looked back up. Castiel met his eyes.

Then he let go, and Dean fumbled for some more napkins before shoving them at him. It was only in the midst of the clumsy transfer that they both realized that, at some point, Dean must have given Castiel his gun, because it was sitting in Castiel's lap.

Castiel picked it up. Judging by the weight, he had at least two rounds left. Judging by the look on Dean's face, he knew. 

He offered it to Dean. Dean took it with a shuttered look, gripping the gear shift roughly. "This fuckin' day," he muttered.

*

Their foul moods only worsened when they got back to the hotel that night, cleaning up, putting on a bandage in Castiel's case, and reading and re-reading the file but getting no closer to answers. When Dean suggested they move their brainstorming session to someplace with liquor, Castiel readily agreed.

Going back to Luis' bar would have felt like work, so they ended up at a bar a few blocks away, a low rooftop in the shadow of another building. It looked down on some small streets and further out the water, but nestled against the taller building it felt both elevated and enveloping, like being on a mountainside. There was a bonfire going, which couldn't have been safe, but with people dancing lazily around it, slow pop songs drifting out of a tinny boombox on the floor and the sound of the waves under that, the scent of the smoke for once masking the harsh salty smell of the ocean, and Dean pouring them drinks... it felt okay.

Dean looked even more handsome than usual in duochrome, blue from the moon and orange from the fire. He smiled at Castiel, though he was looking over the rim of his glass across the rooftop, and said, "That was some pretty nifty shooting back there."

"Thank you," Castiel said. "To be honest..."

"What?" Dean asked. "Guilty conscience?"

"No," Castiel said, hesitating then admitting, "I was worried I had lost it. My aim, my composure in a fight... along with being Unpresented."

Dean blinked, clearly surprised. "Yeah?"

"I know it's not - not related. I don't know." Castiel settled back in his chair, looking up at the sky. "I've always been considered fairly proficient, among my peers -"

"Hashtag humblebrag."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Castiel frowned, puzzling out what he was trying to say. "But even with my alpha days -" Dean snorted, and Castiel flushed. "That's what I called them in my head."

"Mhmm," Dean said, smirking warmly. "Go on."

"This is my first time in the field off the suppressants. I know there are things I need to work on, but it's good to know I can still -"

"Put two between a guy's eyes?"

"So you _were_ impressed," Castiel said, grinning slowly.

Dean actually _blushed_. "Not bad, not bad. So, you think you'll eventually - live like this? As an alpha?"

"God no." Castiel shuddered.

Dean looked down at his beer. "That bad, huh?"

"No, no, it's - it's hard to explain," Castiel said. "It's not just the scents, having to start from scratch. It's... the loss of control. What was so terrifying the last time -"

"Woah," Dean said, sitting up straighter, a blank look on his face. "Terrifying?"

"Not _terrifying,_ " Castiel amended. "I had just - I had never felt -"

"Oh," Dean said. 

"Not that," Castiel said, irritated. "I wasn't asexual. I understood desire."

Dean snorted again. "Sorry. _Dee-si-ore_ , it sounds like - nevermind."

"But it wasn't just desire," Castiel said. "I wanted - of course, I didn't, but I _felt_ like -" Dean's silence seemed to dare him to say it. "I didn't just want to sleep with you. I wanted to _impregnate_ you."

Dean's voice was accommodating, but he wasn't meeting Castiel's eyes. "Well, dude, you were in rut."

Castiel's face burned. "It was like... my body was speaking for me. Taking over my mind."

"I get that. When I'm in heat..." He shuddered dramatically.

"Do you take -" Castiel asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, I don't go into heat. Thank god," Dean said. "It's like what you said, that crazy, out-of-control feeling. I hate it."

"So you... don't want kids?"

Dean shrugged. "I dunno."

Castiel smiled. "Lie."

"Oh, _now_ you can scent," Dean said, briefly smiling, then growing more somber as he considered. "Yeah. Life we lead... probably a bad idea, right?"

Dean's scent unfurled into the silence between them, amplified and electric on the cool night air. "We should stop talking about this," he said. "Just saying the word _baby_ makes me put out all these stupid, y’know... come-knock-me-up pheromones. Crazy, right?"

 _Crazy_. Because he _did_ smell incredible, a feverish shade of his normal scent, impossibly sweet. Cas mentally filled in the blanks: that Dean's body was speaking for him, betraying him like Castiel's had, demanding, even outside his heat and against his conscious wishes, to be bred. 

Because of him. _By_ him.

Dean took a deep breath, then said, "Whatever you're thinking, stop. It’s making you smell..."

Castiel didn't want to stop, but he made himself focus on a crack in the plaster beneath them, and eventually Dean said, "Let's talk about something else. How'd you get into the business?"

Castiel knocked the rest of his tequila back in one shot. "I was born into it."

"You're in a family gig? Which one?" When Castiel hesitated, he said, "C'mon, you'll still have half your cover, _Castiel._ "

He felt a stab of guilt, but hurried to cover it by telling him his last name.

Dean was stunned. "You're - you guys are the - really?"

Castiel nodded. Dean remained frozen in shock, but another wave of scent washed off him, one Castiel recognized. He raised an eyebrow at him. "Really? That's a turn-on?" 

"Shut up," Dean said, flustered. "It's like being - fucking a unicorn. And hey, look at you, scenting like a pro."

Though an obvious distraction, Castiel was secretly pleased. He suspected it had more to do with the delicious scent still rolling off Dean, though, and tried to shake himself. "So, how did you get into it?"

Dean shrugged. "Just kinda happened. I'm good at it, and I like not having to pick a side of the coin, so to speak. Good guys or bad guys. Law or outlaw."

"Good and bad?" Castiel asked. "You believe in that kind of thing?"

"Sure," Dean said. "I'm one of the sorry sons of bitches who's both." Castiel laughed a little. "No, but it was, uh. My dad. My mom, she died when I was a kid. Our house caught on fire. Sam was only a few months old."

"I'm so sorry," Castiel said quietly.

"It was arson. My dad started taking arson bounties, hoping he'd catch the guy, and... well, here I am."

"Did he?" Castiel asked. "Catch him?"

Dean's smile twisted and his scent turned bitter. Castiel remembered reading about the Winchesters' debts when he'd first learned of them - why they were that much more aggressive than your typical bounty hunters.

Meanwhile, Dean's expression had become distracted. "What is it?" Castiel asked.

Before Dean could answer, he heard it - dimly, from a few streets over, the sound of two voices screaming at each other. They seemed somehow familiar, and Castiel frowned. "What -"

"The two betas," Dean said, smirking. "From the other night."

"Really?" Castiel asked. "How do you know?"

"You can't smell it? And you were doing so well," Dean joked. He glanced down at the street where their voices were echoing. "Lover's spat. Not a surprise - anyone that runs that hot in the bedroom..." He cleared his throat. "They stink of anger. And sadness." He turned to look at Castiel, speculation all over his face. "You need to work on that. I mean, it's assassins 101." He put down his drink and stood up, offering a hand to Castiel. "Let's practice."

Castiel's heart was thumping uncomfortably. He felt as if people were looking at them, and wondered what scent he was putting out. "Practice what?"

"Scenting," Dean said. "The fullscreen edition. C'mon." He beckoned with his hand, impatiently.

Rubbing his palms against his pants, Castiel carefully reached out and took Dean's hand. Dean pulled him to his feet then dragged him halfway across the floor, closer to the fire. The song on the radio crackled through its outro, then faded into a new rhythm - deeper, and slower.

Dean arranged their hands and bodies as if Castiel were leading, but he was the one who steered them around the floor, picking some series of steps that felt random and perpetually off-kilter but somehow became a swaying dance (the tequila was, he was sure, helping). Castiel tightened his grip, one hand in Dean's and the other on his waist. That scent was still coming off Dean, fainter now, just a hint that Castiel got every once in a while, when they would turn at a certain angle and he chased Dean's air. And Dean was laughing, at them, at himself, at what a picture they made, twirling on the dark rooftop, like they were people.

When the song started to wind down, Dean slowly let them come to a stop. At some point their hands had drifted down until they were clasped between them. Castiel could've barely moved and rested his head on Dean's shoulder, but he pulled back, looked into his eyes instead. "So," Dean said roughly. "What do you know?"

Castiel swallowed. "I... uh..."

Dean sighed, and with a gentle shove he separated them, though there was something sluggish about it, something reluctant. He should have seemed smug, but he wasn't. "This was a bad idea," he said, eyes on the floor.

"Yes," Castiel whispered.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel blinked groggily and winced at the rush of scents that waking brought. He sat up, rubbed his sore shoulder, scratched some sand out of the corner of his eye, and then wondered why the room smelled so... bland.

Dean was gone. Before he could do much more than stand in a panic, the door swung open, revealing Dean with coffee.

"Hey," he said, somehow managing to seem chipper without actually looking pleased about anything. "Sleep alright?"

"Better than you," Castiel said, with a pointed look at the unmussed bed. He'd claimed he'd had _something to do_ last night, and Castiel must have fallen asleep tossing and turning on the floor, telling himself not to go look for him. Had he slept in the truck? His clothes were wrinkled, and he smelled musty.

Dean ignored the inquiry and Castiel's wrinkled nose, practically shoving a coffee at him and pulling his phone out of his pocket. "So I called Charlie and told her we're going out of our minds here with no leads."

"One of us is," Castiel muttered into his cup.

"And I was thinking," Dean continued, "The whole reason we're here is Zeke was seen going into that bar on Calle Ocampo, right? The one from our first night?"

"Right."

"But we haven't seen it ourselves. The footage," Dean said. "Charlie goes over some ATM footage they'd thought was nothing and finds another sighting. What if we go over the Ocampo footage from the days or weeks around his disappearance and find something they didn't see the first time?"

Castiel frowned. "Like what?"

"I dunno, but you guys brought us in for our, what is it - outside eye?" He shrugged. "Why not use it? We're the ones who've been here, and who knows, something might click."

"I suppose it can't hurt."

Dean nodded, already texting. "I'll tell Charlie to send it over. You can check it out while I make the rounds of some of the bars around here, see if I can rustle anything up."

"Excuse me?" Castiel asked. "You don't want to watch the footage?"

"Nah," Dean said, "I'm more of an in-the-field type, I usually let Sammy handle the research."

Castiel grinned widely.

*

"Kill me now," Dean groaned, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes so hard Castiel worried he'd cause damage.

"It was your idea," Castiel said from across the room, where he had the hardcopy file in his lap but hadn’t actually looked at it for some time.

"For _you_ to watch it," Dean said acidly.

"And I explained that we will take turns," Castiel said calmly.

"Is it your turn yet?"

Castiel glanced at his watch. "In another three hours."

Dean pantomimed shooting himself in the temple, then started drumming his fingers on top of the laptop. "What about this thing with the whore, and Abner? Who's Abner?"

"No idea," Castiel said. "I passed it along to Naomi, she didn't seem to make much of it."

"Maybe she's not the right person to ask," Dean said. "Could we look at his personnel file or something? Dig into this guy?"

Castiel waved the abandoned file. "This is everything we have."

" _Everything?_ " Dean insisted. "There's not a for-your-eyes-only version?"

"What?"

"It's _you guys._ " He had adopted a tone that suggested some deeper meaning. "I didn't think you even existed. You're telling me there's not some higher-level, secret-back-room shit?"

"If there were, I wouldn't have access to it."

Dean fell backwards onto the bed dramatically. Castiel sighed and wandered over, sitting on the side Dean had left free. On the laptop the footage continued to play, an unremarkable straight shot of Calle Ocampo, pixellated almost beyond recognition - it was a miracle they'd picked up Ezekiel at all.

"That Naomi, seems like she runs a tight ship." Dean sat up in bed, running a hand through his hair. Castiel tried not to stare. "Was she..."

"What?"

"Nothing," Dean sighed, shaking his head. "What about... what about AKAs?"

"What about them?"

"Have we run them all through?"

"I assume Charlie has."

"You don't know them?" Dean said, only a hint of accusation in his tone.

Castiel shrugged. "We never worked together."

"Yeah, but me and Sammy and Bobby and Garth, we all share IDs, just swap the photos out."

"So?"

"So maybe Zeke used one of yours," Dean said, and smiled slightly. "Maybe we should be looking for another James, or hell, another Castiel. That can't be too common."

Castiel stared at the stitching on the bedspread, rubbing the pattern under a fingernail. "It's not an alias."

"What?" Dean's voice was distracted, overlaid with the sound of typing.

"It's not an alias," he repeated. "Castiel. It's my name."

By the time he looked up, the typing had stopped. Dean was still bent over the computer, but he'd turned, was staring back at Castiel. The silence felt like it was pulling more confessions out of him. "I was - I wasn't thinking," he explained. "It's my name. My real name."

That beautiful scent fogged up the room again, the scent that meant Dean wanted him, but it was different this time - prickly now, like a vine digging its thorns into him, slightly painful as it dragged him forward, drew him closer to - 

The phone rang.

Dean dipped as if one of his arms had gone out from under him, fumbling for his phone from somewhere in the sheets. Eventually the sound of Charlie's voice came from the speaker - "Dean? You there?"

"Yeah," he said, vaulting off the bed and pacing around the room. "What's up?"

She had some kind of technical update about the footage - she'd isolated certain blocks of time that would be more helpful for them to go over, still a mountain of work but a slightly more manageable one. Dean didn't look at him after he'd hung up.

"I can watch for a while," Castiel offered. "I know it's not my turn yet, but I - you seem beat."

"Yeah. Yeah," Dean said. "I think I'm gonna, uh, stretch my legs. See the outside. Maybe I'll grab some dinner. You hungry?"

"Yes," Castiel said. "Thank you."

"Sure," Dean said, grabbing his jacket. "And uh," he scratched the back of his head, then smiled, so small and unexpected it made Castiel's heart jump. "Listen, I feel bad about last night - you sleeping on the floor when I wasn't even here."

"Oh," Castiel said. "It's no problem."

"Yeah, well, I've been holding that whole contract killing thing over you long enough," Dean joked, dazzling. "You can take the bed tonight."

"Oh," Castiel said. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "K, be back in a bit."

When he'd left, Castiel arranged the laptop on his stomach so he could lay back in bed while he watched. It was comfortable, and had nothing to do with the scent on the sheets.

*

Castiel's dreams were clean and cool, and rendered in color so sharp he could make out a shade of green in Dean's eyes he didn't think he'd ever seen before. But in his dreams when Dean opened his mouth he heard nothing, and when he reached out to touch him, his hand passed through Dean's flesh like smoke.

Scents screamed through him like a freight train when he took his first waking breath, those vulnerable moments between a senseless dream world and a senseless waking one almost too much to bear. He groaned and rolled over onto his stomach.

A voice rose groggily from the floor. "Cas?" The window was open - that must have been why the room smelled like the rest of the city. "You okay?"

He grunted something, then cleared his throat and tried again. "Fine."

Dean's head appeared over the edge of the bed. "You smell upset."

"I hate mornings," he muttered into the bedspread.

"Dude, what?" Dean said irritably, sleepily standing. "You're talking to your pillow."

Castiel pulled his head back an inch. "I hate mornings," he rasped. "I... when I dream, I'm still Unpresented. Everything is normal. It's... soothing, to not have those things to worry about, even if it must seem strange to you." Dean was standing over the bed, just staring down at him, face betraying nothing of his thoughts. "And then I wake up, and all these _scents_ hit me, and it's... too much." He grimaced. "It hurts."

Dean was frowning slightly, thoughtful or perhaps still irritated from being woken. Then he clambered onto the bed. "Dean?" Castiel asked, voice still hoarse with sleep, but Dean ignored him. He pulled the blanket away from Castiel by the hem, gathering as much of it as he could, tugging at where it was tucked into the mattress, and then without ceremony pulled it over both of them, covering them completely. He stayed kneeling, keeping the blanket puffed out, creating, essentially, a fort.

It wasn't much, but it _did_ create a sort of barrier - most of the scents in the room were muted, along with the sounds from the street and the sunlight, soft and diffuse. 

Dean tried to scowl at him, but it was too tentative, too obviously kind. "Does that help?"

"Dean..." he whispered.

"I, uh... I hate this," Dean said, sitting back on his knees, the blanket draped across his shoulders like a cape. "You wanna be Unpresented, and the one place you can't is near me."

Their scents were bottling up in the small space. It was lovely, and Dean was going to get upset about it any second. Castiel swallowed. "I don't mind."

Dean blew out a frustrated breath. "If we just hadn't met -"

"Dean, no." He pushed himself up on an elbow and grabbed Dean's hand. Dean's eyes flew to his. "I wouldn't... I wouldn't give this up."

They stared at each other, weighing this thing between them, each quiet second a gamble. Then Castiel leaned forward and kissed him and Dean groaned into it, the groan that Castiel had been holding back for _days._

They fell back into the mattress with a _whump_ , Dean's soft warm weight bearing him down, limbs entwining, Castiel winding his fingers into the hair at the back of Dean's head. "Cas," Dean groaned, moving to suck at his neck, rolling the skin between his teeth. "Fuck, you taste good."

"Dean," he slurred, tugging on his shirt, not even in a consistent direction, just needing to feel something beneath his fingers. He pressed his face to Dean's neck in turn, scenting him, giving himself a few long, glorious pulls before making himself pull back. "Dean," he panted, "we don't have to -"

"No," Dean said, playfully determined, "I think we really, really do." He pushed Castiel's shirt up and over his face, leaving it stuck there for Cas to deal with while he attached his hot mouth to Castiel's nipple.

He was going to lose his mind. But he wasn't, because he gasped for breath and wrestled the shirt off his face, and Dean gave him no respite, moving back up to slide his tongue into Castiel's mouth as soon as it was free, and it made him crazy, but it wasn't like the last time. His heartbeat was roaring in his ears, driving him on - _get Dean naked, get him wet, get inside, get so deep that he's putting out your scent, bound with you forever_ \- but his brain was in the mix this time, keeping things slow enough for him to truly appreciate. He barely remembered going from clothed to naked last time, but this time he could savor the simple pleasure of peeling Dean's outer shirt down his gorgeous arms, his bashful smile as he tossed it away, his scent thickening ever so slightly as his beautiful skin was uncovered. His undershirt got stuck on one arm, but even as Castiel plucked at it Dean was already stroking his erection through his pants with clever, calloused fingers, and the erotic visual of the shirt hanging off his bicep seared itself onto Castiel's brain at the rush of pleasure. "Dean," he gasped.

"Cas," he echoed back, voice hoarse, "m- ," before biting the rest off. Castiel huffed, desperate to hear it but so wary - this was so fragile, there were so many things they couldn't say, and going here, taking this while staying away from the rest, it felt like trying to drink out of a fire hydrant.

But he was so goddamn thirsty.

If he was going to keep from saying things he shouldn't, he needed to be doing enough to keep busy. He rolled them, pinning Dean underneath him, attacked his zipper, shoved his pants out of the way, and mouthed Dean's erection through his boxers. Dean shoved the cocoon of sheets down far enough to gasp for air, pretty much trapping Castiel down there with his cock. Cas was okay with it.

Blowing Dean was a sensory overload, so much skin to taste and stroke, so many ways he could lave and prod and suckle Dean. And the _smell_ \- he could smell Dean's spunk, the sweat on Dean's balls, his slick dampening the sheets. Castiel sunk a finger into him slowly, and it should have been for Dean's pleasure and comfort, but it wasn't, it was because Castiel needed that slick on his skin, would've brought it to his mouth and sucked it off if he'd been capable of removing his lips from Dean's dick. He gave a particularly rough suck and Dean shouted something and Castiel wondered if they were bothering the two betas next door and he had to pull off to laugh. "Wha -" Dean asked groggily, eyes unfocused, as Castiel shucked the heavy blankets.

Castiel smiled at him. "Nothing," he said, and Dean pulled him down into a kiss. They were pressed together noses to toes, and wet everywhere - Castiel couldn't tell what was spit and what was sweat and what was slick and what was precome, and he was so, so deliriously happy about the mess. His brain felt like a water park of endorphins.

When he finally pushed in, Dean hissing his approval, it wasn't like the last time; there wasn't a symphony thundering through his veins, just silence as the perfect backdrop to Dean gasping for breath and trying to hold back his desperate, choked-off grunts. His scent wrapped around Castiel, scattering seeds in his bloodstream, making his entire body feel like it was going into bloom just to reach out a little closer to Dean. 

Still, he kept his thrusts shallow, torturing himself with how close his knot was getting to Dean's rim each time, occasionally slipping in only enough to slip back out easy. And he wasn't just torturing himself, based on what was pouring out of Dean's mouth: "Fucking come on, come on, come on -" he chanted, grabbing Castiel's hips, digging his nails in.

"I want to - want to wait - " Castiel feebly panted.

"Fucking why -"

"Feels - so good -"

"It'll feel better -" Dean tried to flip them, but Castiel held him down, and in the tussle for control Dean managed to twist his hips and pull him in all the way, practically roaring his delight when Castiel's knot caught.

"You tricked me," Castiel said, aiming for displeased but coming out shaky and breathless. He tried to pull out, but his knot had already swollen up in the welcoming clasp of Dean's body - it just tugged at Dean's rim, pulling a moan out of him and rattling Castiel's bones with the reflexive clench. It felt out of his world, and Dean tightened his hold on his shoulders, drawing him in, _in,_ gasping out curses as he locked his legs around Castiel's waist and squeezed, _squeezed -_

Castiel jerked and shook apart as he came, biting so hard on the pillow beneath Dean that when he pulled back something came along, stuck to his mouth. Dean pulled it out - a feather - and started chuckling giddily. Castiel tried to scowl, but he was out of either brain cells or muscle control or both. "What?"

"It's like - nevermind," Dean said. "Ready for more?"

"Inna second -" Cas slurred, dropping his face onto the gnawed pillow.

"Old man," Dean laughed, and rolled them end over end, Castiel's head practically falling off the edge of the bed as Dean settled into place to ride him - which was more like swiveling, with his knot tying them together.

"Don't stroke out on me, Cas," he teased.

"I can't -" Cas panted. "Too dizzy -"

"C'mon, come for me again -"

"Can't -"

"Do it - I wanna feel you get so thick, Cas, so big, so tight -"

Castiel licked his palm and fisted Dean's dick, and Dean choked and came all over him, the pressure and obscene scent of Dean’s ecstasy pulling Cas over the edge again too.

Dean collapsed on top of him. Everything was sticky, and Dean sounded like he might have been purring. His scent was pure bliss. Castiel cursed the open window for letting any of it escape, and contemplated recreating the blanket fort, but it was too far away and his muscles were like jelly.

Above him, Dean stretched until there were audible _pops_. Castiel felt his eyes roll back in his head and he shivered, fingers digging into Dean's skin. Dean pulled back until he came into focus, grinning down at him. "That was awesome."

Castiel knew his answering smile must have been dopey. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Dean said, leaning down for a lazy half-kiss, burying his nose in Castiel's neck and scenting him long and languid. "I think we needed it."

Castiel's heart beat a little faster at that, because it suddenly felt like maybe the bubble they were in was about to burst. He tried to regulate his emotions, knowing the scent of his distress would be obvious, but Dean noticed it anyway, nuzzling him a little. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," Castiel breathed. Dean had to know he was lying. He had to know he was nervous, that this was huge, and it couldn't be huge. He stared into the blur of hazel that was Dean's eyes just an eyelash's length from his, and tried to convey that without saying anything they couldn't say.

Dean was silent, and after a moment he ran his fingers through the mess he'd made on Castiel's chest. "Y'know," he said thoughtfully, "we're gonna have to clean you up."

"Dean," he groaned. "Don't do that."

"Why not?" He lifted a wet thumb and rubbed it into Castiel's lower lip.

"Fuck." Castiel rolled them over 'til Dean was under him. "Because if you do that," he answered, kissing Dean just to watch his eyes darken at the taste, "we won't make it to the shower for a long... long..."

*

When Castiel woke up, Dean was gone. He had a dim memory of Dean teasing him as he had slipped into a much-needed nap, something about Castiel sleeping it off while one of them actually worked. Perhaps Dean had gone to watch the footage elsewhere - lord knows Castiel wouldn't have been able to concentrate if it had been Dean laying next to him, scent all smudged and gritty-bright and sated, with Castiel's layered over it like a big, messy ink stamp: _property of._

Or maybe he had gone for food. Castiel's stomach grumbled as he stepped into the shower - he hadn't felt this starved in months. He perked up at the thought that he could finally hand-feed Dean, like he'd wanted to what felt like ages ago. Then he frowned - maybe that was a bad idea. Too _intimate_. What was acceptable intimacy and what wasn't? This was so complicated - he wasn't sure what was a bad idea because they worked together, and what was a bad idea because they didn't want to get too close to anything _biological,_ and...

They'd figure it out, he told himself, as he stepped out of the shower, shook the water off, and took a deep, bracing breath.

The room didn't smell as good as he remembered. In fact, it smelled... blank.

_Awful._

He looked around. All of Dean's things were gone, not just the essentials he'd take to work elsewhere. His clothes were gone. The laptop was gone. The _case file_ was gone.

Dean hadn't gone out. He was _gone._


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel bought a barely-running Mitsubishi from someone down the street. It didn't have a muffler, and it made a loud clanking sound every few blocks in addition to its general roar, and the rusted patchwork colors drew stares, but it would suffice. 

He'd learned of the car from one of the hotel employees, all of whom had been extremely helpful once they'd deduced from Castiel's poorly-concealed panic and Dean's absence that "his omega" had "run out on him". Just thinking about it made him sick.

On the other hand, they were the ones who had told him Dean had been seen driving northeast out of town, so he couldn't help but be grateful.

Or he would have been, if he'd seen anything on the road he'd been barreling down for the last ten minutes besides dry weeds and dirt. His thoughts raced in circles: perhaps Dean had become aware of a lead in the case that he'd needed to follow immediately (for some reason, without Castiel and without leaving notice); perhaps Dean had belatedly panicked at the developments between them, and needed space (with the laptop and case file); perhaps what or whoever had happened to Ezekiel had befallen Dean as well. (But then why were his things gone, with no signs of a struggle, and Castiel alerted to none of it?)

His heart was racing, and he forced it to stillness; just because Dean _could_ have been anywhere didn't mean he wasn't following a promising lead.

The enforced calm lasted one minute before he abruptly snapped, dragging the car screaming across two lanes to a dusty rest stop. He rested his head in his arms as it shuddered to a halt, breathing harshly.

When he finally gathered himself enough to examine where he'd pulled over, he discovered a small two-pump gas station attached to a convenience store that looked like it hadn't been restocked since the new millennium. He drudged inside - clearly, he needed to take a break and gather his thoughts before he resumed his search, because driving around in a panic wouldn't do him or Dean any favors. He stared despondently at a package of twinkies as he contemplated his next move.

That's when he heard the sound of a gun cocking.

A quiet voice said, "Walk away, Cas."

" _Dean?_ " Shock froze him for a moment before he realized, stunned, that he had _scented Dean here_. His sudden, mysterious impulse to pull over at this exact stop, even though Dean's truck was nowhere in sight - he should have felt giddy.

Instead the gun kept his face pointed at the twinkies as he asked, "Dean, what's going on? Why did you leave?"

The voice came again, even quieter: "I said, walk away."

"Dean..." Castiel breathed. "I don't know what I did, but I know you can scent me. Do I smell like I have any idea what's happening?"

His tone and perhaps scent were attracting a stare from the cashier, though it wasn't flat-out alarm which meant Dean's gun must have been out of sight. "Shh," Dean hissed, and a hand on his arm moved them to a quieter section of the store. Castiel took the opportunity to steal a glance at him, and found he looked _awful_ , tired and afraid. His scent, now that he realized that was what he was getting, was bitter and horrible too. It made him itchy, made him want to reach out and touch Dean, comfort him.

But Dean did not look like he wanted to be touched. The gun was still pointed straight at Castiel's heart and his whisper was hard as ice as he asked: "Why did I see the Impala on the Ocampo footage, Cas?"

"The what?"

"The Impala. My car."

Castiel's frown deepened. "The truck?"

"No, _my_ car," Dean said darkly. "The one I let Sammy take on his solo job 'cause I lost a bet to him before we split up."

Castiel's heart was pounding. "The Impala. ...It was here? In Todos?"

"A few weeks ago, according to the timestamp. Just caught a glimpse, but I'd know my baby anywhere." His mouth was a grim line. "Why'd my brother and I get hired for separate jobs in the same tiny corner of the world at the same damn time, Cas?"

"I - I have no idea."

"You sure smell like you do."

"I probably smell upset, because you left and now you have your gun on me and _you're_ upset and your brother may be in danger, which does upset me too, whatever suspicions you're harboring," Castiel said. "But do I smell aggressive? Deceptive?"

"I don't know," Dean growled.

"Yes you do," Castiel insisted. "Talk to me. What are you thinking?"

When he spoke, Dean's voice was less accusatory than it had been before, but no less serious. "I'm thinking there aren't a lot of coincidences in our line of work, Cas. Best case scenario, Sammy was here to take out Zeke." His tone darkened again as he finished, "I don't think you want me outlining the worst case."

Castiel swallowed. "No."

"I'm sorry, Cas," he said, face and tone closing off. "I don't see us working together on this one."

"I do."

"Really," Dean said flatly. "What if -"

"I don't care. I don't _care_ ," Castiel said, risking a step closer to Dean. His eyes widened but his trigger finger was still. "This - this wouldn't be the first mission I came back on empty-handed." He raised his eyebrows, and Dean glanced away. "They knew that when they arranged this one. Right now, all I care about is what you're planning to do next."

"Find Sammy," Dean said immediately.

"Good. Let me go with you. You could use the extra firepower."

Dean shook his head, but he looked more frustrated with himself than with Castiel. "I can't trust anything you say right now, Cas."

"You _can_ ," Castiel insisted. "You had me figured out from the moment we met."

The silence stretched out. "Dean, please.”

Dean took a long breath, his eyes locked with Castiel's. "Fine."

Castiel hurried to catch up as Dean strode out of the store, apparently unwilling to waste any time now that the decision had been made. He still didn't speak once they were in the truck. "So," Castiel said, watching the Mitsubishi disappear in Dean's mirror without regret, "where are we going?"

Dean shifted in the driver's seat and threw him a _look_ , but said, "That name I saw on the motel register a few days ago? I think that was Sammy. That was a few miles north of here."

"Have you tried calling him?"

"Yes," Dean said. "But this job he took was supposed to be deep cover. He's not answering any of his numbers. That's why I'm having Charlie trace 'em."

"Charlie?" Castiel asked carefully. "She's not... with Naomi?" 

Dean stared straight out at the road. "Nope."

Castiel sighed, took his cell phone out of his pocket, cracked it in half, and threw it out the window.

*

Charlie's intel took them another hour northeast, into the foothills where the ground started to tilt up slightly, the scrubby bushes became scrubby trees, and all signs of human life vanished completely - until they arrived at the coordinates she'd provided.

It looked unassuming from the outside, a minimally-guarded compound nestled up against a low peak, just an open field, a handful of small buildings, and a fence. Of course, backed into the mountains as it was, there was no telling its true scale.

Dean's uneasy silence as he scoped it out through the binoculars seemed to echo Castiel's assessment. "What do you think?" Castiel asked. "Guards?"

"Mmhm," Dean said. He swept the perimeter once more, before pointing to one of the most isolated booths studding the wall. "There."

Dean unclipped the radio from the first guard's belt once the second was down, squinting back at the stenciled lettering on the booth's wall. "Uh, station 2 to base, over," he mumbled into the speaker, as Castiel worked on guards' clothes.

The walkie-talkie squawked, then said, "Go ahead."

"We got an intruder here," Dean said. "He's down, still breathing, thought you might wanna take him in, over."

"Sending someone your way, over," came the response. Dean shrugged, and took the uniform that Castiel offered him.

A minute later a little cart appeared on the horizon, hugging the wall and headed straight for them. In the back were two guards in identical uniforms, while the driver was a man in a black button-down and khakis.

"Vaughn. Sanchez," he said once he'd pulled up alongside them, glancing at their nametags. Then he shifted to look at the crumpled guard they'd put in a combination of Dean and Cas's clothes. He whistled. "An intruder. Armed?"

"Yessir," Dean said, turning over his emptied Taurus butt-first. Khakis took it and whistled again.

"Good work, gentlemen. These two will relieve you, we're gonna wanna take you in for a debrief."

"Yessir," Dean said again, and turned to heft the unconscious guard into the cart. They squished in alongside him, and khakis turned them around and drove them along the wall through the front gate onto the main grounds. It was larger than it'd looked from afar, the buildings more expensively outfitted, with signs of recreation here and there - a hammock, a cooler - although all were abandoned.

"Would you?" Khakis asked when they pulled up to an exposed elevator shaft. Dean threw the unconscious guard over his shoulder, and together they took the elevator on an unsettlingly long ride down. Dean glanced at Castiel once behind the man's back.

The doors finally opened to a sterile, windowless gray hallway, which they followed to an equally dark, windowless room. A woman in a white lab coat was waiting for them when they arrived. "Over there, please," she said, motioning to a set of shackles in the wall. Dean dumped the guard on the floor and shackled him, and lab coat knelt to begin checking him over while khakis got a tablet out of one of the cabinets and turned it on.

"Okay, so did he have anyone with -" he started, but the woman interrupted him, swabbing blood out of the guard's face.

"My god, this is -"

Castiel gently lifted her high enough to put a hand around her throat, while Dean turned his rifle on her colleague. "Yeah," Dean said. "So here's the thing, I'm looking for Sam Winchester."

Khakis' face was chilly. "I don't know anyone by that name."

Dean hit him relatively gently with the butt of the rifle. The man whined and clutched at his bleeding nose, but said, "No, I _really_ don't know any Sam Winchester."

"Tall," Dean said. "White. Alpha. Shoulder-length brown hair."

Lab coat made a soft noise that she tried to muffle. "What was that?" Castiel asked, tightening his fingers ever so slightly.

"Um," she said, pulse fluttering against his palm. "It might be... Kevin? In Alchemical?"

Khakis glared at her, and Dean pistolwhipped him again before latching him into a second set of manacles on the wall. "Okay, so you know how in the movies," Dean said, turning to lab coat, "when someone's real cooperative 'cause they've got a gun to their back?"

"Oh my god please don't hurt me," she whined, slumping against Castiel's hold. "I have two kids."

"We've only used non-lethal force so far," Castiel said kindly. "We'll see how this goes."

"How _what_ goes?"

"You're gonna show us to Alchemical," Dean said, grinning.

Sure enough, down a half-dozen hallways they reached a section where wide windows peered into a huge lab complex, and one of the workers in white coats was Sam Winchester. He froze when he saw Dean grinning at him through the window, their hostage barely holding back tears at his side.

He must have come up with some kind of placating lie to the others, because a minute later he met them in the hallway and dragged them all to a quiet storage room a few doors down.

"Dean," he said, stunned and not happy. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey to you too," Dean said. "We might have trouble, Sammy."

"You think?" He nearly shouted. "I'm _working,_ Dean, I'm undercover and you're gonna-" His eyes bugged out further when he saw Castiel's weapon. "Do you have a _gun_ on -"

"Listen Sam, I'm working too, and I think something fishy's going on here," Dean said quickly. "I was hired to find this guy Ezekiel - name ring a bell?"

"No, Dean," Sam said through clenched teeth. He looked volcanically angry.

"Sammy, I know this job's good money," Dean said, frustrated, "but something ain't right - what're the chances they pull us in with Cas's guys -"

"Cas?" Sam said, seeming to see him for the first time. " _Cas?_ "

"Not now," Dean snapped. In the background, lab coat whimpered in continued distress. "Just -"

"Okay, I'll listen to whatever crazy theory you have, Dean," Sam said, "but would you please -"

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's gallantry. "Don't worry, we'll get out of here and she'll get home to her two kids just fine."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Bela doesn't have kids."

They all looked at Bela, whose blank stare turned into a wicked grin at the sound of shuffling outside the door. The next moment it burst open and a dozen heavily armed guards pointed rifles into the tiny room.

"Look at that," Bela said. "Just like in the movies!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Trigger warning for brief mention of rape._

They were taken down elevators, along hallways, and down more elevators, heading deeper and deeper until they were finally led into a cavernous room containing nothing but a long, wooden table laden with an elaborate feast. There was only one person seated - a man, youthful-looking despite being in his 40s, handsome, at the head of the table, and clearly in charge. When Sam saw him, he stiffened.

"Ah. Welcome, guests," the man said, waving at their group. The wave seemed to indicate that Dean and Castiel should be shuffled off to a corner of the room and forced to their knees, while the cuffs around Sam's wrists were removed and he was led to the seat at the opposite end of the table. The guards fanned out around the room, several remaining close to Dean and Castiel, guns drawn.

Sam was playing it admirably cool. "Nick, I can explain," he started.

The man - Nick - interrupted him, his demeanor nothing but polite, even friendly. "No, I owe _you_ an explanation. The thing is..." He winced. "I hired you."

"I know," Sam said, all clear-eyed humility and charm. "I appreciate that so much. And what's happened -"

"No, Sam," Nick said, "I hired you to perform corporate espionage on myself. I sent the wave you responded to, for this job. To spy on me."

Sam looked a little pale. "What?"

"I just...wanted to keep you safe," Nick said, sounding like he was trying to be delicate. "And I knew if I could get you here, on the compound, even if with a bit of deception, you'd be safe. And look!" He said, waving at Dean and Castiel. "They came for you, and instead of being in a shallow grave somewhere, you're here with me. Safe."

Sam had narrowed his eyes, but didn't ask about the implication that he was unsafe with Dean. Instead he asked, carefully, "Why do you want me safe?"

"Okay," Nick said, seeming about as flustered as one would about being called on an exaggerated personal anecdote. "Okay, okay, look, I didn't want you to find out this way, but... my name is not Nick. Well, it is, but I have another name." His voice lowered, smooth and cool. "Lucifer."

"Lucifer," Sam said, with a hint of amusement.

"And," he added, "you're my son."

Sam gaped for a moment, obviously unsure how to proceed. Dean snorted a bit, almost a laugh. Sam finally settled on, "You're insane."

"Oh, Sam," Nick or Lucifer said affectionately, voice like a knife. "You have your mother's skepticism. But did you never wonder why you and your lunk of a 'brother'," he said, using air quotes, "look _nothing_ alike?"

Next to Castiel, Dean shivered slightly. Sam glanced at them, then back to Lucifer.

"Did you know your family used to work for mine?" Nick offered. His plate was empty and the food untouched, but he seemed in no hurry to eat, merely nursing a cocktail in a short, thick glass. "Mary Campbell -" Sam stiffened at the name, and Castiel looked at Dean, whose stony sneer had melted into something much worse - "sorry, _Winchester_ \- was one of my older brother's best operatives. Deadly in the field, I mean, she was his first call, he trusted her with _everything_. And that should tell you how much he admired her, because that guy is _all_ about blood ties," Lucifer said, laughing. "Still, he loved an outsider."

He gaze was on his drink, swirling the ice slowly, eyes fixed there as if seeing the past, perhaps a young Mary Winchester. Then he looked up, straight at Sam, eyes glinting in the low, unnatural light. "So I took her."

Sam's mouth had finally shut, the bolt of his jaw flexing. "Mike helped her relocate afterwards, set her up with this fancy new life, white picket fence. But I tracked her down eventually, and, well..." Lucifer chuckled. "I always have been a little too into fire."

 _Arson_. The memory of Dean's story crawled over Castiel's skin. "I'm going to kill you," Dean growled. 

"And there's the genuine Winchester article," Lucifer sighed. "Boring."

"If I'm... your son," Sam said levelly, "why haven't you tried to reach out to me before now?"

"Well, my brother was _very_ angry with me, first for hurting his precious Mary and then for _burning_ her. He locked me away." Lucifer pursed his lips as he considered his story. "And I don’t know, as an infant, you were appealing to me - so pure, so innocent. But by the time I got out of my brother's cage and tracked you down, you were a child. You had -" he waved his hand about, "fruit punch lips. No thank you." He shuddered.

"You sick fuck," Dean spat. Castiel was close to getting his cuffs off, and he hoped Dean's anger hadn't halted his own progress.

"You’re one to talk, Dean," Nick replied. "For someone so supposedly devoted to keeping your brother safe, you’ve done a spectacular job of leading danger right to him."

"Really?" Dean hissed. "We're supposed to believe Sammy's safe _here_?"

"Oh Dean," Lucifer said, bemused. "Sam is safer here than anywhere else in the world. _I_ want nothing but the best for him, but unfortunately, I have enemies." He tilted his head, smiling at them. "Why don’t you ask your deformed mate over there what he was really doing at that party in California."

Dean turned to look at Castiel very, very slowly. There were so many scents in the room Castiel was dizzy with them - fear and aggression and c4 - but underneath it all had been the steady pulse of Dean's scent, and now it blanked out.

"Michael's getting older, his organization decaying," Lucifer was saying in the background. "He wants to wipe me out before he kicks the bucket, because he knows if I hang in there until he's gone, his entire corps will come over to me. They've always been a next-in-line kind of crowd. So I've been laying low, waiting for the... cancer, or whatever, to finish its job, but he just had to keep trying to draw me out," he sighed. "So he sent one of his hitmen to try and kill my son. Sloppy play."

Sam was looking at Castiel too. "What is he talking about?"

"I have no idea who this man is," Castiel said truthfully.

"How did you even know Sam was here, Dean?" Lucifer asked, entertained. "Did... Castiel have something to do with you being in the area?"

"Do you work for... Michael?" Sam asked, the name unfamiliar in his mouth.

But Dean knew the right question. "Who were you there for in California?"

Castiel swallowed thickly. "...Dean, I -"

"Son of a bitch," Dean whispered. Castiel had smelled Dean's distress before, but the faint, dissonant scent of it was a hundred times more nauseating knowing that he was the cause. "You were there for Sam?" 

"I didn't know any of this -" Castiel swore.

"You were gonna kill Sam?"

"No, I -"

"You said you would've gone ahead with it, and you weren't lying," Dean said. "The day we met? You were gonna crawl out of my bed and go kill my brother?" Castiel was shaking his head, pleading, but Dean barely seemed to hear him. "You used me to track him here for your second chance -"

"See, this is why I love being a beta," Lucifer interjected. "Alphas and omegas - they're so _dramatic_." Dean had lapsed into stony silence, staring straight ahead. "Anyway, I believe Castiel is Michael's... I don't know, twentieth son, somewhere in there, which would make him your cousin, Sam," Lucifer said, pressing a finger to his mouth as he mentally sorted out the family tree, "so Dean, he would be your... nothing!" He grinned at them. "But it's still kinda creepy - I mean, it's almost incestuous. I agree, you should kick him to the curb, honey."

"What are you going to do with us," Sam said, staring flatly down at the table.

"Like I said, I'm just chilling out waiting for Mike to kick it. You guys can wait here with me. We get HBO."

"Like hell we will."

"I mean, I can kill you if you _want_ ," Lucifer said boredly.

"I think we'll be killing you," Dean said, voice raw.

"And how's that going to go?" Lucifer asked, right before every light in the room cut out, plunging them into total darkness. "Um -"

"Probably like this," came Dean's low promise.

The guards all had comm units in their ears, presumably tuned to the same radio signal they had first used when infiltrating the compound, and the second after the lights went off, each unit lit up a blindingly bright blue. Gunfire sprayed, but Castiel had already moved and wasn't hit, and based on the lack of screams or thuds no one else had been either. There was scuffling and the sound of flesh hitting flesh as Castiel and, he assumed, Dean and Sam each aimed for a blue light, the darkness hiding them as they hunted. Lucifer was screaming, "Your mics, you idiots!" but by then most of the blue lights were already on the ground. When they all were, Castiel heard:

"Sam?"

"Here. What was that?"

"Charlie," Dean's voice was warm. "Smart girl. Now we only need -"

As if on cue, the light above a single one of the many doors in the wall lit up. It just barely illuminated the chair Lucifer had been in, which was empty. 

The Winchesters had just stepped into the light when another burst of gunfire cut them off, almost hitting Sam. Dean grabbed him and hauled him back into the dark while Castiel leapt in the direction the shots had come from, finding the one guard who had been smart enough to take his earpiece out. He got a few more shots off, but none hit Castiel, and with a few well-placed strikes he was down. When he turned around, Dean and Sam were both in the light again, staring at him.

Sam spoke first, tersely. "Let's just get out of here, okay?"

The door opened to another hallway, also pitch black - Charlie must have cut power to the entire complex - but which quickly illuminated, light by light, in the path they were meant to follow. Several turns later, the lights abruptly stopped. They were under an air vent. Sam said, "I think that's a clue."

They scrambled up into the vent, which led to a sewage tunnel just tall enough for Dean and Cas to stand in comfortably. Sam ducked as he pointed down one end, to a patch of just-barely-visible sky.

"Hallelujah," Dean breathed. "C'mon."

The exit turned out to be blocked by a thick metal grate that they were able to kick off with a few minutes' effort. The tunnel emptied out right back into the desert, level with the ground, the opening set into one of the low foothills. A chopper was already hovering overhead, dropping quickly. "That's our ride," Sam said.

"Yup," Dean said, before turning to Castiel and punching him square across the jaw.

Castiel fell back against the hill and cradled his face. The air stank of anger and pain. "Dean - I swear, I didn't know -"

His apology was cut off by the sound of footsteps splashing down the sewage tunnel. They peered back in only to see flashlight beams swinging, drawing closer. Castiel grabbed one end of the grate and Sam the other, but they realized quickly they couldn't just put it back - after they had kicked it out, it wouldn't fit securely enough again to provide a real barrier. The guards chasing them were already shouting and speeding up. "I'll hold it -" Castiel said. "You -"

"No, here," Sam said, and he pressed against the grate, pushing and pushing until, with a scream, the metal bent, wedged in so unnaturally that their pursuers wouldn't be able to pry it out without a blowtorch. Castiel stared at Sam, startled into carelessness. Their pursuers started shooting through the grate, and Castiel doubled over, blood blooming over his ribs.

"Shit," Sam said, crouching over him and dragging him to the side. The helicopter was landing, kicking up dirt and sand that made his eyes water. Castiel wasn't sure he _had_ been hit, because nothing hurt. He was very tired though. He was glad he was lying down.

He could see Sam's face above him and feel his hands pressing against his stomach. Someone had leapt out of the helicopter and was waving at them frantically. Castiel's gut felt cold. He couldn't see Dean, but he was glad he could scent him still - it wasn't a pleasant scent at the moment, curdled and awful, but just having it nearby was comforting. He breathed it in as his eyes closed.

The helicopter's blades and gunfire were deafening, but Castiel could hear Sam shouting over them, "Do we take him? Dean, _do we take him?_ "

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I didn’t say it would be the ONLY sequel.


End file.
